Date: Mon, 7 Feb 2011 18:55:17 -0700
From: A R <avunculous@gmail.com>
Subject: A Number Of Nights: Chapter 7

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.