This is a work of erotic fiction. All participants are fictional, and are over eighteen years of age. If reading erotic fiction about adult male participants that involves sex, sexual servitude, bondage, and pain is illegal wherever you are, don't read any further. But if you move someplace more fun, come back and read it then. I welcome your feedback, and hope you enjoy the story.
A Number Of Nights Chapter 07
Interlude 1
The boy was Asian, tall, maybe twenty-three, slender but with a good muscular upper body, shown off well by his sleeveless t-shirt. Master Ryan circled him a couple of times. The slave was smiling.
"Strip," said the Master.
The slave shucked off its clothes quickly, folding them and putting them aside. He was beautiful; a light dusting over hair on his legs, his crotch well-manscaped, his lower body as well-muscled as his upper.
"Kneel," said Master Ryan. The slave knelt, and Master Ryan pulled the slave's face in to his crotch. "Lick," ordered the Master, and the boy proceeded to lick at the Master's jeans. Master Ryan let that go on for a while, and then undid his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, and pulled out his cock. "Suck it."
The boy went to work enthusiastically. He was a talented cocksucker; he went to town on the Master's cock, using all the tricks he knew. The Master let him work for a while, and then pulled away. He went over to an arm chair, and sat. "Over my knee, boy."
"Yes, Sir," the boy responded, and immediately draped himself over the Master's knees; the Master manipulated him so that the boy's cock was between the Master's legs, which left the boy's feet barely touching the floor while his hands supported him on the other side. The boy's cock was hot and hard.
The Master spent a while exploring the boy's ass with his hands. It was a beautiful ass, firm and round, curved like a well-designed luxury car. As he explored,the boy spread his legs wider; his asshole was perfect, twitching.
Master Ryan's first blow landed on the boy's right ass cheek, sounding like a gunshot in the quiet living room. The boy grunted. The second one landed in exactly the same spot. The third went to the boy's other ass cheek, and then the Master alternated for a while.
The boy took it in silence for a while, and then started gasping with each blow; each slap that landed on him caused his cock to push between the man's legs as well. "You like that, boy?"
"Yes, Sir, thank you, Sir," the slave responded, short of breath.
"Well, I'm going to keep doing it until you cum," the Master said. "Better get off soon, or your ass is going to be a wreck."
"Yes, Sir!" The slave boy started hunching himself back between blows, humping the Master's legs for all he was worth. The Master rained down smack after smack on that delectable ass, turning it first white, then red, then redder, then getting it close to maroon. The boy's breath was ragged, gasping; it sounded like he was trying to talk, but didn't have any words left.
The Master felt him about to cum, and started a series of hard, solid, slow swats, while the boy drove his cock between the Master's legs again and again, until with a cry that sounded like agony, he spurted. The Master felt the boy's cum run down his calf as he ended with a flurry of spanks while the boy shook with his orgasm.
He gave the slave a moment to recover, then pushed him off his lap. "Clean me up, boy."
"Thank you, Sir," the boy said, and started licking his cum off Master Ryan's leg. "Thank you, Sir," he said between licks, that was perfect Sir, thank you..."
"Now my cock, boy."
The boy put his face between the Master's legs, and started licking; he soon moved on to sucking; his technique was excellent, alternating slowly between different techniques, giving the Master enough time to enjoy each one before changing the flow. He brought the Master smoothly and gradually to the edge of an enormous orgasm, and then took his load down his throat as the Master held his head firmly in place.
The boy sat on his heels as the Master recovered, looking down at the floor. The Master contemplated him for a time while he came down from the high.
"Is there anything else that Sir requires?"
"Tell me a story," said Master Ryan.
"Um... Sir?" The slave looked up at him, puzzled.
"Never mind. Put your clothes back on, boy."
Interlude 2
The slave knocked on the door at 7:30. The man answered immediately; he was dressed in leather pants, black engineer boots, a leather vest, a leather cap. His chest was hairy, his arms were big. He looked to be about thirty-five.
"Get your ass in here, slut," The man said.
The slave walked into the entry hallway, and heard the door close and bolt behind him. Then the man grabbed him by his shirt, and slammed him up against the wall. The slave kept his eyes averted as the man pressed himself to the slave's body, his mouth so close to the slave's ear that the slave could feel the man's breath on his skin.
"You're mine, cocksucker. You belong to me. Your ass, your mouth, your whole body. Mine." The man had lowered his voice to a growl.
"Yes, Sir," the boy replied.
The man slammed him back against the wall again. "Call me Master, shithead."
"Yes... Master." The slave's voice was very quiet.
"Your safeword is 'I'm a shithead.' Got it?"
"Yes, Master."
"Get your fucking clothes off, boy." The man pushed the boy against the wall again, and then released him. The slave undressed quickly, folding his clothes and placing them on a side table.
"On your knees, cunt," the man ordered, and the slave obeyed. The man held a black leather collar with studs on it; he buckled it around the slave's neck, and then attached a leash.
"Heel, you little fuck," the man said, and began walking, quickly, down the hall. The slave tried to keep up, but the man's pace was too fast to follow while crawling; the leash pulled at the slave's neck, choking him.
"Keep up, you dumb fuck," the man said, opening a door at the end of the hall.
The array of equipment was impressive. There was a spanking bench made out of an old gymnastics pommel horse, a cross mounted on the wall in the corner, a sling, manacles hanging from the ceiling, a whipping post. There were floggers on the walls, a riding crop, a bullwhip.
"Gimme your hands, slut." The man put leather cuffs on the boy's hands, buckled them tightly; the cuffs had three links of chain between them. The man then dragged the slave over to the whipping post, and hung the boy's wrists from the hook mounted on it. The slave was stretched, but his feet could touch the floor pretty solidly.
The man started an examination of the boy's body by grabbing his ass, hard; then he prodded at the boy's asshole with one thumb. He reached around while doing so, and took a hold of the boy's nuts, and squeezed. The boy resisted the pressure as best he could, but as the man squeezed harder and harder, the boy groaned, then screamed. The man gave one more hard squeeze, eliciting another yell from the boy, and let go.
"You've got a nice voice, cumdump. You'll be screaming like that a lot tonight," the man growled.
The boy pulled at his bonds; the man's thumb had gone up his ass while his nuts were being tortured. The man's other hand fondled his chest, pulled hard at his nipples. Then the man let him go, and stood back. In a moment, the boy felt a line of pain drawn across his back. He yelled.
A second stroke caused him to yell again. Twisting in his bonds, he could see that the man had a cat with several tails, all leather thongs, and he was beating him with it.
The third blow landed on the boy's ass, and caused the slave to slam up against the whipping post. The beating continued as the slave squirmed in his bonds, struggling to get away; he twisted, and the man wrapped the whip around his chest with the next blow; he pulled against the shackles that held him.
The boy's back and ass were a uniform red, crosshatched with maroon when the man finished beating him. He hung limply as the man unhooked his shackles from the post, and then sagged to his knees.
"That's what you get, you little cumbucket," the man said, then grabbed the boy's collar and dragged him over to the bench, the boy's arms and legs struggling to hold him up on the concrete floor. The man pulled him across the bench, and then tied his ankles wide apart to bolts in the floor. He went around to the front of the boy, unbuckled his shackles, and then tied his wrists down so that the slave was spread-eagled across the bench, his ass high in the air.
The man unzipped his leather pants, and took his cock out; it was cut, six inches in length, and thick. "Suck on it, you little cocksucker." He thrust it into the boy's mouth, all at once, making the boy gag, then grabbed the boy's hair and started fucking his face, hard. The boy struggled for air as the man's cock rammed into his mouth, over and over.
The man stopped, his cock buried deep in the boy's throat, and slapped his whipped back a couple of times, hard. "Better get that cock all nice and slobbery, boy. That's the only lube you're gonna get."
The boy grunted, feeling his saliva flowing down the man's cock and his own chin.
The man pulled out, and walked around behind the boy, smacking his back and ass as he went. The boy felt the man's hands pry his ass cheeks apart, and looked back over his shoulder as the man was gripping his cock at the base, getting ready to thrust into the boy.
He wasn't wearing a condom.
The boy bucked in his restraints, gasped for breath a moment, and said, "I'm a shithead!"
"What did you say, boy?" the man growled from behind him.
The boy's eyes showed signs of panic. "I'm a shithead, Master! Please, stop! I'm a shithead!"
"Oh, hey." The man's voice was suddenly gentle. "Oh, hey. Okay. Hang on..."
The man came around in front of the boy, and untied his wrists, then did the same for his ankles as the boy lay limp across the bench.
"Jeez," the man said. "You okay?"
"Um... just let me... let me catch my breath." The slave stood, shakily.
"You need anything? A drink or anything?" The man was standing awkwardly, looking concerned.
"No, I'm okay. I just... I have to go." The boy limped towards the door.
"Yeah, sure, okay, sorry... just..." the man followed behind him. "Look, I'm sorry, I thought that was what you wanted..."
"I thought so too, it's okay, I just..." The boy had reached his clothes, and started pulling them on gingerly.
"You're okay? I mean... when you used the safeword, I stopped, right? You're okay?" The man was wringing his hands.
"Yeah, I'm all right, I should have been more specific..." The boy pulled on his shoes, his socks stuffed in a pocket.
"The ad did say 'bb,' I thought you were okay with it... You need anything for your back?" the man asked. A few traces of blood were showing through the boy's tan t-shirt.
"No, I'm okay, it's all right, I just have to go..." The boy paused in the doorway. "It's okay."
He left.
The Letter
Dear Sir,
Once upon a time there was a slave who was unhappy with his lot in life. He resented the service that his Master required of him, regretted the actions that had led him to becoming a slave, and longed to be freed of his circumstances.
As it happened, this slave was charged with doing the Master's shopping for him, and so on certain days of the week the slave would walk to the market, and bear the Master's goods home on his broad strong back.
One market day, the slave was particularly disgruntled, and as he walked along the street he muttered to himself that he wished that things were different, that he was not a slave.
Soon thereafter, he spotted something glimmering on the side of the road. He stopped to pick it up and clean it up, and found that it was a ring, apparently of gold, with a single opal inlaid. Thinking that he could use the ring to better his lot in life, the slave slipped it on his little finger. He was about to proceed towards the market again, when he felt someone tap on his shoulder.
He turned to behold a tall, muscular man, dressed in a loincloth, a turban, and jewels; he stood perhaps seven feet tall, and had dark purple skin. "You have summoned me," the genie said, "And I must obey. You will have three wishes of me, and no more."
Needless to say, the slave was surprised.
"Three wishes? Anything I want, I can have?" the slave asked.
"Yes," the genie answered.
The slave was cleverer than most, though not as clever as he thought himself to be. He considered his first wish carefully. Obviously, what he wanted most was his freedom, but as long as he was asking for that, he may as well get something more out of it.
"Genie, I wish to be completely, absolutely free; no cares, no tasks, no responsibilities, no demands on my time; free to do whatever I want," the slave said.
The genie arched an eyebrow at him. "Very well," the genie said.
The man was blinded, so great was the light. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, and then he was able to look around him. He was in a vast stretch of desert; sand all around him, piled into dunes and standing waves; the sun up above in a great dome of sky, and nothing else at all in sight.
He was also naked, except for the ring.
He spun about for a few moments, feeling the sun begin to penetrate his skin in ways and places that made him distinctly uncomfortable. He trekked to the top of the nearest dune and confirmed it; he was in the middle of sun-blasted, sand-scorched nowhere.
"Genie! What have you done with me!" the ex-slave shouted.
The genie appeared beside the man, his purple skin absorbing the bright sunshine. "I have freed you of all responsibilities, all cares, all tasks. There are no demands on your time. You are free."
"You couldn't have left me my clothes? Some money? You couldn't have freed me in a city somewhere?" The man asked angrily.
"Your wish was clear. Your clothes demand your time; to take them on and off, to wash them, to mend them when they rip. Money is even more demanding. One must always be wary of how one is spending it, take care that it not be stolen, try to encourage it to reproduce so that one may have more." The genie sighed. "A city is nothing but responsibility; it is the form that the responsibility of civilization takes. To live in one, one must abide by laws, one must maintain a certain camaraderie with one's fellow citizens, one must contribute, at least monetarily, to its upkeep."
"To be totally technical," continued the genie, "Leaving you here is creating an obligation to contribute carbon dioxide and obey the law of gravity, but if I'd dropped you off-planet it wouldn't be half as much fun."
"So what am I supposed to do now? Starve? Die of exposure?" The man asked angrily.
"You are free to do so," the genie replied.
The man sat to think, and instantly regretted it, as any who've had hot sand in their ass crack can attest. But he sat nonetheless, and thought.
He needed two things now; some resources, and a way back to civilization, but he'd be damned if he would waste a wish on getting himself out of a situation the genie had gotten him into.
A glint of cleverness came into his eyes. He looked for a moment as if he was about to jump up and say something, but he contained himself, and sat a while longer. When he was sure he was being clever enough, he rose slowly and spoke to the genie.
"Genie," he said, "I wish that all the land as far as I can see, and a hundred miles further, was my prosperous, flourishing kingdom, with all of the populace, resources, and kingly trappings and wealth that go with it."
"Okay," said the genie.
Once again, the man was blind, but this time, it was because it was too dim for him to see. He blinked a bit, and saw that he was in the midst of a vast throne room, with marble floors, columns wrapped in gilded streamers, hugely arched roof, and luxuriously appointed throne. Before him were assembled a group of courtiers, looking up at him respectfully.
"Excuse me," the new king said, and fled to a stairway near his throne; he went up to the highest balcony in the palace, and gazed out at a vista of rolling hills, rivers, pastures, and farms. Everything was green, and while the contours of the desert he had just occupied were familiar, everything had gone from being sun-blasted and sand-scorched to delightfully pastoral.
He visited the royal stables and found magnificent horses; he visited the royal gardens, and found a blissful paradise of flowers and statuary. He visited the royal harem, and the less that is said about that, the better. It was later on, when he was reclining in his royal apartments, being fed the best grapes by the choicest of slaves, that one of his council found him.
"Your Majesty," the counselor said, "The counsel has been awaiting your presence for some time, now. Will your Majesty be addressing the nation's business today, or shall we postpone until tomorrow?"
"Oh. Um." the new King said. "Let's take it up tomorrow, shall we? Thanks."
The King spent his night in a huge royal bed, in luxurious sheets, and awoke to a sumptuous breakfast. With the attention of his royal dresser, he was attired in the finest of royal robes. While he was dressing, one of his royal advisors begged admittance, and bowed low before him.
"Will your Majesty be able to speak to the royal court this morning?" The advisor asked. "There are some issues which are of pressing concern."
"What issues?" The King replied, lifting his foot so the dresser could put his royal shoe on.
"The import tax on grain, Your Majesty. The funding of the Royal Guard. The need for a new sewer system." The advisor looked a bit vexed. "And several others."
"I'll be along presently," said the King.
And indeed, after a long stroll in the garden, followed by a long stroll in the harem, the King made his way to the royal throne room, to find his advisors and members of the court standing or sitting about, some talking in whispers, others arguing. All stood to attention when the King proceeded to his throne, and waited respectfully.
The King sat, looked around a moment, and said, "Well?"
The afternoon proceeded, with members of the King's court presenting him with issues to decide, policies to make, arbitrations to adjudicate. The King seemed at first amused, then grew bored; soon he was issuing judgments before hearing out the full details of the cases brought before them. Eventually, after two or three hours, hearing the beckoning sound of the fountains outside, and the harem beyond them, he called a halt for the day, and left.
His advisors and courtiers stared after him, aghast.
Each day played out in much the same way. The King rose later and later in the day, spent more and more time at his royal diversions. The advisors and courtiers, the plaintiffs and arbitrators, never knew if he would spend an hour, two hours, or none at all from day to day on matters of state. And the king retired early, to feasts and diversions, and the whole cycle started again the next day.
The advisors began to bring fewer and fewer issues to the King, which meant they decided more for themselves. The courtiers learned that flattery and attentions could earn the King's favor, whereas hard work and concern for the kingdom could not. The advisors began to operate for their own benefit; the courtiers began currying as much favor as possible. None of them would bring bad news to the King, for fear that the King would grow wrathful and take vengeance upon them.
So the King wasn't advised when a neighboring kingdom raided their lands, the underfunded, underfed army unable to fend them off, and some of the best pastureland in the kingdom was lost. The courtiers didn't let the King know when the treasury was running low. The King was oblivious to the plight of the peasants in the kingdom, whose lot was growing worse as the palace consumed the resources of the kingdom with feasts and leisure, as the King no longer heard his peoples' petitions.
And so it was to his surprise that one morning, or afternoon rather, the King awoke to the sound of battle outside the palace walls. There was no breakfast laid out for him; no dresser was waiting to attend to his clothes. The King called for his servants, but none came.
The King put on a robe from the day before, and went out into the palace. It was empty; there were no advisers or courtiers. There also seemed to be fewer of the paintings and sculpture and gilt ornaments that had made the palace magnificent.
The King hurried to the throne room; there was no one there. He took the stair to the highest balcony in the palace, and looked out upon his kingdom.
He gazed out over a vista of burning hills, choked rivers, pastures and farms in ruin. While the contours of the kingdom that he'd known were familiar, everything had gone from being delightfully pastoral to war-blighted and mob-burned.
The palace was surrounded by a throng of people. The King recognized the uniforms of soldiers from a rival kingdom, mixed in with his own soldiers and peasants. All of them were calling for his head.
And it was apparent that the palace gates wouldn't hold too long against them.
"Oh, genie," the King said in despair, "What has happened to my kingdom?"
"You did, Your Majesty," the genie said from behind him. "When you were asked for decisions, you wallowed in wealth. When you were needed to lead, you were dawdling with the harem. When you were called for on the battlefield, you were strolling the garden. Did you think kingdoms ruled themselves?"
"Well, yes." The King replied.
"There is no power without price," the genie said.
The King slumped down into a chair on the palace balcony. "What am I going to do?"
"Probably make another wish," the genie replied.
The sound of the palace gates crashing down came to them from far below.
"I don't suppose you can give me a hint of any sort?" The soon to be ex-King asked.
"Freedom and power and service to others. Each requires a sacrifice taken from each of the others. You must find the balance between them that suits you best," the genie said.
The man thought a moment, as the crowd surged through the palace, seeking him out. Then, from the look in his eye, the ex-King had a clever idea. He thought on it a moment, and the look turned to one of conviction.
"Genie," he said. "I wish I was somewhere where I was well taken care of, where I never had to worry about making important decisions, where I always knew what was expected of me, and where I could know where I stood at all times. Where I really belonged."
"Okay," said the genie, and the man appeared instantly back in his old slave quarters at home, the ring gone from his finger.
And when his Master beat him that night for failing to do the shopping that day, he was puzzled that the slave seemed happy, and thanked his Master profusely for his punishment.
Thank you, Sir. ________@_______.com
THE EMAIL
Good story.
Meet me at 7pm Wednesday at the Thai restaurant at the corner of 5th and Main.