Changed Circumstances Chapter 61 "Some Solace and yet Fearful Uncertainty"
This is a story of erotic fiction meant to be read by adults over the age of eighteen years
Written by Jean-Christophe September, 2014
My stories are archived at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories
"The characters and ideas contained in this story are products of the writer's imagination and bear no resemblance to actual persons or events. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add other artists' pictures"
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Chapter 61:
The hours we spend in Lionel Schuster's isolation pen are the unhappiest and bitterest of my life. And I know the same is true for Norge. Even though our gags have been removed, neither of us can talk about the fate that awaits us; we both know this time tomorrow we'll be en route to unspeakable horrors in some hellhole in the developing world.
But it isn't the thought of the hardships confronting us that is unbearable. As I look at Norge, my heart breaks into a thousand pieces. My dearest friend and my lover is absolutely crushed by this turn of events. Instinctively, I know that Norge is terrified at the prospect of us being torn apart in some distant slave-market and sold to separate masters. We both realize the chances of that happening are high and this feeds our despondency. Therefore, I know of Norge's despair because I share in it.
Norge sits with his back to a wall and buries his face in his hands to hide his tears from me but I can see the deep sobs which convulse his body and rattle the chains restraining his wrists and ankles. And my heart goes out to him. Always in the past, it had been Norge who'd comforted and consoled me. But such isn't the case now. It is my turn to console him.
I sit beside him and protectively place my arm around his shoulders to give him some of my little remaining strength. This proves the catalyst which releases his raw emotions and he turns and takes me into his arms and buries his head against my chest. I soothingly stroke his back in an effort to calm him but to no avail. I bend down and kiss the top of his head and add my salty tears to his. We sit thus for several hours without speaking. Neither of us can put into words our deep fear of the future and the unimaginable pain of being permanently separated.
For the first time since I'd become a slave I am able to give something back to Norge. Always I'd drawn on his strength and optimism and now I am able to return a little of that to him in his hour of need. I hold him close to me; indeed I am reluctant to let him go as I know this could well be the last day that we can hold one another in such a tight embrace.
Slowly, Norge regains his composure but not his hope. When I look into his sorrowful eyes I can see that hope has been extinguished and replaced by despair and he is resigned to our fates. As slaves we have no control over our destinies and we now know that Guy Maratier has made the awful decision to sell us illegally to an overseas slave-dealer. And I don't know why he's done so.
Norge reaches out and gently strokes my cheek as an act of love. As he does so he speaks and his words cut me to the quick.
"Lucien, I love you so much and have done so for a very long time. I can't imagine my life without you to share it with me. It would be better if I were dead. The oblivion of death is preferable to the lingering torture of us being permanently separated."
At his use of the name Lucien, my own tears start to flow in earnest. I've long grown used to my slave-name, Rafe and I no longer think of myself as Lucien. But Norge's use of my true name restores to me a measure of my humanity and validates me as a person. And I love him for it. Perhaps his parting gift to me is to remind me of who I really am.
Then, shamefully, I recall that he too has another persona and name - both of which I'd callously taken away from him the day I bought him at auction and frivolously substituted with the name of his country of birth. I'd long forgotten that he is in fact Thorvald Fjelstad. All the wrongs I've ever done to my beloved Thor come flooding back and I weep tears of regret for the hurt I've caused him.
Inevitably, I start to ask why. Why has our master decided to sell us? Have we done something to displease him? I seek answers but none are forthcoming. I can't recall that we'd done anything that angered Guy Maratier to the point where he's punishing us by selling us. On the contrary, both Norge and I have performed our duties as his ponies over and beyond what could be reasonably expected of us.
As I think on these matters, I come to the conclusion that I must be the cause. For some unknown reason our master needs to be free of me. Perhaps, I serve as a reminder of the past and he feels uncomfortable with my presence in his life - albeit as his slave. And the more I think on this, I become convinced this is the true reason why he wants me out of sight and out of mind. Otherwise why would he resort to subterfuge and secrecy to sell us illegally?
If this is so, then Thor is the guiltless victim dragged down by Guy Maratier's animosity towards me. He is paying a terrible price simply for befriending me. This thought dismays me and heightens my sense of injustice.
Thor and I grow calmer and although neither of us speak the words, we are now both resigned to the inevitable. As I cradle Thor in my arms, I think about the injustices of slavery and all of its inherent evils. And I rail against the helplessness that I feel.
My mind runs through a whole gambit of emotions. Slowly, dismay gives way to frustration and bitterness becomes anger. My anger is directed at those who are hurting Thor and my thoughts are for him rather than my own dire predicament. I would do all within my limited power to spare him.
But, frustratingly, I know there is nothing that I can do to save Thor and in the loneliness of my bitter thoughts, I rail against those who are a party to what is happening to him. Inevitably, I think of Guy Maratier whose decision to sell me is the catalyst for Thor's fate. Then, I think of those who aid and abet him in his plans and my red-hot anger gives way to cold fury.
First among these is the recently buried, unlamented Charlotte Maratier whose pure malice and evil machinations were my undoing. She was the architect of my downfall and it was she who robbed me of my name and inheritance and ensured that I was enslaved. And it is she who bears the brunt of my seething, ice-cold fury. Next to feel my hatred is her treacherous grandson, Guy Maratier and his arrogant, spoiled son, Etienne.
It is they who have benefited the most from my changed circumstances. Guy Maratier has taken everything from me and he still isn't satisfied. He now conspires to spirit me away to some unknown destination and an uncertain fate.
My hatred also extends to the perfidious Simon Barrow who I'd once implicitly trusted as my attorney and to that vile peddler of human flesh, Lionel Schuster both of whom seem to be Guy Maratier's co-conspirators.
Simon Barrow had deserted me in my greatest moment of need and he had used my downfall to insinuate himself into Guy Maratier's good graces thus enriching himself.
I vividly recall the indignities the slave-dealer, Lionel Schuster had subjected me to when he'd evaluated me shortly after my enslavement. The shame and humiliation of his inspection remain with me despite all of Thor's effort to free me of them.
And now it would seem both are working hand in glove with Guy Maratier in this final chapter of my downfall!
My hatred for all five seethes within me like a festering wound that can't be healed. And it only heightens my sense of injustice that Thor is to share my fate.
And not for the first time, I feel the impotent rage of a slave; I am powerless to act! Nevertheless, I silently curse all five and wish for their eternal damnation.
Realistically, I am resigned to the fact that I can never expect to revenge myself on them but I also know there can never be any forgiveness on my part.
Despairingly, Thor and I cling together locked in a tight embrace. We have no way of knowing what hour it is other than by the sunlight shafting down through the barred window set high in the wall above us. And our remaining time together is measured by the shifting shadows the sun casts on the straw strewn floor of our prison.
As the sun climbs to its zenith, the light in our cell grows brighter and the shadows shorten. Then as the sun travels westward, the shadows lengthen, the light fades and slowly gives way to twilight.
With the passing of time, Thor and I grow ever more despondent. From the conversation we'd overheard between Guy Maratier, Simon Barrow and Lionel Schuster we know that we are to be collected after dark when all is quiet and there are no prying eyes to see us taken away. And so, darkness becomes our enemy!
Around us we hear the distant sounds of other slaves locked in their holding pens being fed and watered. Then it is our turn as an elderly slave hands us a meal of cold gruel, black bread and water. But I don't have any appetite and food is the last thing on my mind until Thor - as practical as ever - comments.
"Lucien, we should eat! We don't know what's in store for us and we might need our strength."
Thor is right of course, and so, I force myself to eat the tasteless, glutinous mess served to us in badly battered, tin bowls.
All too soon twilight gives way to darkness and there's no light in our cell other than what filters through from under the door. As our eyes adjust to the darkness, Thor and I huddle together for warmth and comfort. Neither of us speaks; our thoughts are elsewhere and what is to become of us. Impulsively I move closer to Thor and he draws me nearer to him into a tight embrace. He holds me to his chest and I am soothed by the steady, rhythmic beating of his heart.
Miserably, we huddle silently together in the darkness. Words are inadequate to express what each of us is feeling. In the stillness of our prison, I hear Thor's deep breathing and is it my imagination or do I hear the rapid pounding of my heart which lies heavily within my heaving chest.
Desperately, I cling to Thor as though my life depends on it. The thought that we are soon to be parted tears at my innards, my resolve to stay calm deserts me and I begin to weep tears of despair.
As he has done so often in the past, Thor puts aside his own feelings to comfort me. He clasps my face in his hands and leans forward to kiss me. Our lips part and our tongues entwine sinuously as a prelude to what could be our last act of love-making.
Thor rises to his knees and kneels before me. I move my head down to Thor's smooth, hairless groin and, as my eager mouth searches for his cock and balls, I breathe in the scent and taste the essence of his manliness. Hungrily, I take his cock into the warm embrace of my mouth and suckle it. I feel its burgeoning response to my ministrations and soon its swollen girth fills my mouth and throat awakening within me a deeper desire for Thor to fuck me one last time.
As my pursed lips slide sensuously up and down the length of his hard erection, Thor arches his back and the cell's silence is broken by the sounds of our sex; the slicking sound of my rounded lips as they move piston-like up and down Thor's hard erection and the moans of his mounting passion.
Thor holds my head firmly between his hands and forces me to take more of him into my mouth and I am happy to do so.
To steady myself, I reach behind Thor and take hold of a firm, rounded buttock in each hand. How good he feels to the touch!
My trembling hands traces out the curvaceous contours of Thor's ass and encouraged by his shivering response, I use a finger to probe the deep, warm recess of his ass-crack and to excite the sensitive opening to his body.
I feel the delicious contractions as Thor's cock fires off two or three warning shots and I taste his sweet essence in my mouth while my own cock throbs with impatient desire.
Suddenly Thor pushes my head away from him leaving my mouth feeling strangely empty. He stoops and places a hand beneath my chin and lifts my face so that we look into each other's eyes. He smiles down at me and strokes my cheeks. Shyly, I smile back at him. Then he stands and raises me to my feet.
Thor runs his hands down over my chest pausing to playfully tweak my nipples before sliding them down over my belly to my cock. He takes it into his fisted hand and uses his thumb to tease and excite my piss-slit and in doing so, he reduces me to a quivering, mass of overstimulated nerve endings.
Thor takes me into his arms and kisses me. His tongue forces itself into my mouth and I see this as the precursor of what must inevitably follow.
He lowers himself to the straw-covered floor and lies expectantly on his back while I wait with tensed body and bated breath for his next move. He instructs me to straddle him and to position my ass over the tip of his hard erection. He tells me he wants to watch me as he fucks me; he wants to look into my face and see my emotions at play and to take that vision with him into his uncertain future.
I position my body so that Thor has ease of entry into me. He assists by holding his cock perpendicular to his prone body and telling me to lower myself onto him. As we make physical contact, the heat of his cockhead sears itself against the sensitive tissue of my sphincter sending anticipatory waves of pleasure surging through my body.
As is his custom, Thor is gentle and encourages me to relax by telling me to.
"Relax, Lucien I need to fuck your ass perhaps for the last time!"
His words are full of poignancy for indeed this might well be the last time that we make love together.
Thor reaches up with one hand and playfully tweaks my nipples. With his other hand he strokes my straining cock and fondles my now constricted balls. And his loving ministrations work; I feel my ass muscles relax as suddenly, his cock breaches my resistance.
As the mushroom flanged head of Thor's cock spears through my eager sphincter, I wriggle my ass to better accommodate him and my initial gasp, as he thrusts upwards into me, gives way to the low, appreciative moans of my mounting desire. Suddenly, I am enveloped by sensations of incredible calm and anticipatory joy and I surrender myself to the erotic pleasures of the moment.
Spitted on my Thor's cock, I swivel my hips and to my delight I feel the full length of his cock slip easily into my ass until it's buried to the hilt. How good it feels as the vein-gnarled surface of his throbbing prick massages and excites the nerve sensitive, inner linings of my rectum.
I slide my ass up and down on Thor's impatient cock and synchronize my movements to his thrusting. Mere words can't describe the intense pleasure I feel as his rigid manhood probes and seeks out my pleasure spots. And I respond by working the internal muscles of my ass to massage his cock and give him reciprocal pleasure.
Thor and I become as one entity; coupled together by our common needs and unbridled passion. How long we remain like this I don't know. Time stands still and we temporarily forget the world outside our cell and the uncertain fates that await us there. Our bodies glisten with our sex induced sweating and the air in the cell hangs heavy with the erotic scent of our carnal lust.
Thor has me slowly masturbate as his hands massage my chest and tease my nipples. With each upward lunge of his cock and with each stroke of my hand, my own turgid member cries out for relief. My balls tighten within the confines of my scrotum and ache for release.
Thor's plunging becomes more rapid and I sense his mounting urgency. Then, without warning, there is a sudden pause in his wild thrusting; a cessation when all I feel is the urgent throbbing of the excited cock buried deep within my ass. Suddenly, Thor's exultant shout announces his climax and, as he ejaculates within the tight confines of my body, I feel the exploding jets of his semen heat-blasting my innards.
I arch my back and bite my lips as I tighten my ass muscles to hungrily milk him of every last vestige of his seed. As I do so, my cock now seeks its own relief. Ramrod straight and poker hard it points at Thor's chest; I feel the tight contraction of my balls and the powerful surging of my cum as it escapes through the narrow confines of my piss-slit. With each exquisite spurt I spray Thor's manly chest and belly with globs of my glistening, pearly-white sperm.
Satiated, I sit astride Thor and wait as he deflates inside of me. I feel his flaccid cock slip out of my ass - perhaps for the last time - and I am conscious of a new "emptiness" and a sense of indescribable sadness. Without his prompting, I lean forward and hungrily lick up my semen; pausing from time to time to tease his nipples and to explore the depths of his navel with the flickering tip of my tongue. Thor responds by stretching his prone body to its full length and moaning appreciatively.
Afterwards, we lie side by side in a tight embrace with our bodies pressing against one another, our legs entwined and our cocks touching. I have no idea of the time as it moves inexorably towards our impending departure. But the moments are made bittersweet by the knowledge that we are soon to be cruelly parted perhaps never to see one another again.
The knowledge of this causes the bile to catch in my throat and once more I am consumed by my hatred for all those responsible. And I curse their perfidiousness!
Then, as the door to our cell is flung open, the interior is flooded with a blinding light that temporarily blinds us. I hear a disjointed voice which I believe is that of Lionel Schuster shouting out instructions to his slave attendants.
"Get them to their feet. Gag them and shackle their wrists behind their backs and load them into the crates."
Rough hands seize us, pull us apart and haul us to our feet. A gag is forced into my mouth and my wrists are fastened behind my back. I see that Thor is being treated in like manner and the full horror of our situation hits home. Our time has come and we are being torn apart.
No time is wasted in dragging us bodily from the cell down a brightly lit passage way between two rows of cells overflowing with slaves who have been rudely awakened by the commotion and who watch disinterestedly as Thor and I are hustled out into the inner courtyard.
Here the lights are dimmer but the night sky is clear and I can see a cart with a harnessed team of eight, heavy-duty, draft slaves waiting patiently. At the rear of the cart are two, open, wooden crates which remind me of cheap coffins; the sight of them is ominous and chills me to the core of my being.
Panic stricken, I look around for help but none is in sight. However, I catch sight of Simon Barrow standing with another man who is obviously the slaver charged with transporting us to our unknown destination. Desperation robs me of any logic and through my gag, I plead with him for help although I know none will be forthcoming. He simply looks at me and laughs.
Simon watches dispassionately as Thor and I are lifted bodily and laid out full length inside the two crates. The rough wooden surface scratches my naked flesh as I wait helplessly while the lid is fastened to the top of my crate.
How can I describe my feelings of absolute terror and despair as the crate's top is screwed down cocooning me in a total darkness unlike any I have ever experienced. Within the tomblike interior of my crate, I am only aware of my hyperventilated breathing and the wild pounding of my rapidly beating heart. Then, gradually, my eyes adjust to the darkness and I make out chinks of light filtering in through gaps in the roughly made crate and I feel the chill, late night air cooling my overheated body. Logic returns and I tell myself that my time in the crate is only temporary and that Thor and I will be released very soon and my panic lessens.
Calmer now, I hear the muffled conversations of those standing around our crates but I can't make sense of the words. I hear the labored grunting of Lionel Schuster's slaves as they bodily lift Thor's crate and slide it onto the tray of the cart. Then it is my turn as I am lifted haphazardly and placed alongside Thor.
For the next few minutes, time stands still until suddenly the silence is broken by the loud, ominous crack of a whip and the shouted order to "WALK ON!" is given to the draft slaves.
From within the confines of my crate I hear the creaking of the cart's timbers as the slaves laboriously strain into their harness to move it forward. And I hear the metallic rattling of its wheels on uneven cobblestones and feel the vibrations of the cart's movement as our journey into the unknown begins.
To be continued ............