A Cruel Passing of Innocence

by J. D. Jensen

Night fell, and Nassara felt Zheeno inching forward, to be nearer to her, and harbouring an unfamiliar need to be close to him, she edged nearer too, as far as the chains would allow until it was taught against her collar. Sitting on her haunches she was able to put her arms over his bent knees, as if to seek some comfort from the proximity of his body, no longer feeling the shame of her shy innocence. In this dreadful place, surely such conventions of decency could be ignored; now her soul had more pressing needs.

  The light covering of hair on his skin felt good as she caressed it absently, her arms hugging the muscles of his thighs. She revelled in the residual warmth that radiated from his body, her nose savoured the stale-sweet smell of his perspiration, and her eyes marvelled at the sculpted detail of his masculine shape. As she ran her fingertips gently over his thighs, and the smoothness of his stomach, she thought suddenly of her brothers. They seemed from her past life, so far behind, not here to protect her, not now, not ever, the hurt of betrayal cutting deep. Here, with her loneliness, she felt a strange need for this young man. He was not her brother by any tie of blood, but a brother by shared adversity. She craved to have his comforting strength, wanting to hold him, yearning to sob against his chest and for him to clasp her in his strong young arms.

  ‘Poor girl, so far from home,’ he muttered. ‘How I would like to be your brother, to protect you from evil, but I cannot.’ It was as if he had read her thoughts, and she smiled through her tears, in the darkness, seeing the tenderness and sparkle of life in his eyes.

  He reached out and gently, hesitantly, touched her breast, allowing his fingers to glide sensually over its firm peak, moving up to linger and tenderly caress the raised welt that ran across the upper curves. Then, very softly, making her skin tingle with delight, his hand moved down again to cup and cover the hardened nipple, then gently kneaded the delicate knurl of ripened flesh between finger and thumb. His loins stirred and her arms tightened around him. A surge of affection and lust swept through her, despite the mutuality of their wretchedness. What cruel fate it was that had brought such beauty and delight to her emotions, in so dark a pit as this. Could not kindly fate have come to them before?

  ‘How cold is your poor flesh, so evilly lashed by those devils,’ he comforted. ‘Yet how lovely you are. Such men can never spoil your beauty. Remember this, and let your spirit not be crushed by their wickedness.’

  Smiling sadly at him again, she moved her hand to rest upon his lean chest, caressing it, before allowing her fingertips to lightly brush across his ribs, and then over the muscled rise of his pectorals. Marvelling at the firmness she wanted to feel more, her emotions rising to heights she had never known before.

  ‘Nassara, how tender is the touch of your sweet fingers upon my miserable body, exhausted from our journey and weary of the whips they used upon us, making us run when no man could run in such heat.’ She felt the sudden tightness in his throat, a fresh swell of emotion rising in him. Then he sighed, smiling sadly to her in the darkness. ‘How I wish my body was pure and clean for you to touch me. I wish we could be together, in another place. We would be as one, forever.’ His voice was husky, a slight tremor to it, his eyes suddenly so bright with intensity that they seemed to light the gloom, making her spirits soar. He ran a hand across her shoulder and down her slender arm. ‘I fear we have such little time together.’

  ‘Shhh…’ Nassara put a finger against his lips, stopping him. She could not speak, feeling the sting of fresh tears in her eyes. A sensation she had never known before glowed like embers within her. It went beyond those feelings of simple fraternal closeness, fondness and spiritual elevation. It was far more, its heat radiating, urgently and potently, fuelling her surging passion.

  Even in the foetid darkness she knew there was a stirring in his loins, a steady rise of flesh, in the way she had sometimes glimpsed her brothers – and known her stepfather. Instinctively her hand moved down across Zheeno’s stomach, feeling the dusty growth of hairs beneath, then her fingers sought out the growing stretch of his shank. Tenderly she took it at its base between fingers and thumb, fondling it and thrilling at the strangeness of his arousal. Then, aware of his eagerness, she began to rub ever so gently, feeling over the swollen veins and smoothly gnarled rigidity. She let her curled fingers glide up to its extremity, exploring, kneading, and soon enveloping the fold of skin that circled its head. For a second she held him there, before beginning to caress the silky texture, fingering the tiny cleft of its seed-eye.

  ‘Nassara…’ he gasped, ‘oh, how my flesh aches for you, even in this place.’

  She craned her neck forward, wanting their lips to meet. But the cruel containment of their shackles prevented such an embrace, allowing only a fleeting brush of tongues and lips. Keeping her arm draped over one of his legs for support, firmly but gently she opened his knees, prizing them unresistingly apart, spreading him open to her.

  ‘My sweet man, you are like a ram wanting me,’ she whispered excitedly. ‘I too desire your body. I shall dream of it, but until my dream can come about I must be content with holding your manly rod in my fingers.’

  For a moment she held his hardness in the palm of her hand, pausing there, squeezing the magnificent fullness of his thrust. Then, feeling his urgency for her to continue, she resumed the gentle gliding rhythm of her fingers; delighting in the effect it had upon him. Slowly at first, then gradually faster, she became more familiar with his flesh, and feeling the pulsing quivers of his body she worked upon him with increasing fervour, her confidence growing each fresh pulse of his passion.

  He gasped, straining against the collar to get nearer to her, but he could not; not without disturbing the fitfully sleeping companions chained on either side of them. His fingers moved across her breasts, slowly and gently at first, but then harder and intensely, wanting more of them. Her chain and collar constrained her no less. Scarcely able to move nearer she stretched herself as far as she could between his open legs, all the while maintaining the intensity of her rhythm on his flesh. She felt his other hand reach out to touch her smooth thighs, resting for a second before feeling for the soft opening of her passage nestling in her pubic coppice. One of his fingers gently sought out the damp folds, feeling its way into the neat passageway, sliding deeper, exploring the delicious, gossamer labyrinth beyond, and she felt passions engulfing her.

  Unable to sustain such delightful tension any longer he sighed, uttering stifled moans, calling her name softly, until finally her touch made him shudder and gasp, his legs stiffening. Then she felt the jettisoned burst of his long suppressed fluid erupt and splatter hotly upon her breasts and tummy. Instinctively she slowed her fingers until the jerking spasm beneath them had peaked, then slipped her hand gently over his oiled head, giving it a tender squeeze, feeling the final vestiges of his spume ooze from between her fingers.

  How her body ached to be against his, thrilling for him, but the chain was tugged roughly against her collar as one of her companions, whimpering in the darkness, stirred and pulled her away. Nassara fell back, feeling Zheeno’s keen finger slide away reluctantly from within her.

  She had not noticed before, but the motion of the sea had intensified. The boat began to heave and pitch in the deeper swell and all around her companions were waking, moaning from either fear or sickness.

  Adjusting her collar and chain to a more comfortable position, she lay back against the timber side, trying to make out Zheeno’s features, wondering what thoughts were in his mind, wanting to reach out to him again or call his name. But the heaving of the boat and the creaks and groans of its timber frame came more angrily, as if in protest at the heavy sea, and her body was not easy in its awkward repose. Soon the boat seemed to writhe in the waves, lifting the hold first one way, then in a sickening shudder the opposite way.

  She wanted to shut her ears to the dreadful cacophony of retching human distress that mingled with the clank of chains, the crashing of the sea against
the hull and the protesting groans of the timber frame all around her. The pungent stench of vomit, sweat and urine was overpowering in the confined space of the hold. With every roll of the vessel the rising level of evil smelling water in the gully slopped against her feet, no matter how far she tried to back away from it.

  ‘We are going to die, to drown in this hell,’ Belithza wailed, and despite her own fear Nassara spoke soothingly and reassuringly to her, telling her that soon they would reach land again.

  Not knowing how long they remained at sea she sat huddled and shivering, drifting in and out of sleep. Dawn came slowly and gradually the waves calmed. By the time the sun was high again, faintly penetrating the cracks in the planking above, the motion of the boat had stilled, and a faint smell of vegetation was just discernible above the vile stench of the hold. The groaning sounds of its human cargo gradually diminished and the captives started to mutter amongst themselves, gladdened to have survived the sea, although anxious once more in contemplation of their destiny.

  ‘We’re approaching land, Nassara,’ Zheeno said, shifting nearer to her.

  ‘Where is this place?’ she asked anxiously. ‘What awaits us here?’

  ‘The name of it I know not, but they say it is a huge land, and that the rulers are mighty and with great power over many peoples. They say there are great living places many times greater than the biggest of villages you have ever seen, and that many people live there in tall stone buildings.’

  ‘But what will they do with us, Zheeno?’ she pressed. ‘Shall we be separated?’

  Zheeno shifted his weight again, reaching out to reassuringly touch Nassara’s leg. ‘I know not, but we are slaves now. We shall be in the hands of our masters. Let us hope they are less cruel than the scum who have brought us here. Be hopeful, Nassara. Be brave.’

  The nearer they got to the landing place, Nassara became increasingly aware of the busy sounds of people close by, once again bringing a nagging fear to her heart. There was a muffled dragging noise against the side of the boat, some shouting, some bumping, and the vessel had docked. Above them scuffling feet ran on the deck, and after some moments the hatch was unbolted and wrenched open.

  The instant glare of the sun was blinding to all huddled below, but delicious fresh air rushed into the hold as a man’s face appeared in the hatchway. He shouted an order, his nostrils flaring distastefully at the stench that came up to meet him. Some of the young men reluctantly got to their feet, understanding the shouted order, and started to shuffle, crouching low, towards the ladder that led up to the daylight.

  Nassara whispered urgently to Zheeno, but before he could reply the chain on his collar yanked him forward. He stumbled away from her, the others quickly following him, pulled by the rough chain. Desperately he glanced back at her, his eyes filled with a tenderness that touched her heart. He waved fleetingly then was gone, jerked from sight by the chain.

  Chapter 3

  Emerging into the sunlight from the dreadful hold, the sight that met Nassara’s eyes was one she could never have imagined before, and fear clutched again at her belly.

  The boat was moored alongside a stone landing place. Nestling on every side, bobbing gently in the water, were many boats of differing sizes, some monstrous shapes rising high out of the water, sprouting several masts and raised cabins, and with several levels of deck.

  Everywhere teemed with running figures carrying heavy sacks, bundles or boxes to nearby storage huts. As far as the eye could see, in every direction, there were tall buildings, domed roofs and tall towers standing starkly against the deep blue sky. Human activity was everywhere, loud and coarse. Men in strange, richly coloured garments surveyed the comings and goings of the scuttling figures, occasionally shouting orders. Some were armed with fearsome knives that glinted in the sunshine.

  The general noise of the bustling place was offensive to Nassara’s ear. She had never before seen so many people gathered in one place. The alien mixture of odours that came from this dense human habitation was scarcely better than the foul atmosphere of the boat’s hold.

  The sprawling buildings seemed to have been set out one on top of another, crammed together so tightly that they overhung the narrow streets, awesome in their domination of the place. The sheer immensity and hostility of the environment made Nassara feel scarcely of greater significance than a humble insect.

  If any one of the captives had for one moment believed their ordeal was nearly at an end it would have been a cruel, unfounded expectation. Once they had been unloaded across the gangplank, the two files of chained men and women were led away at a fast pace towards the sprawling mass of buildings. Naked, the slaves trotted, one behind the other, with the young men at the front, their chains jangling with disjointed, uneasy rhythm.

  The whip-men were everywhere around them, goading them on, flicking their whips impatiently around their legs. As the file of captives passed by men would stop and ogle them, sometimes shouting blatantly lewd remarks in the disturbing language that Nassara did not understand. Some of the men made lurid gestures, and she felt eyes everywhere upon her nakedness.

  The nearer they came to the buildings rising menacingly before them, the more people came out to look curiously at the new batch of slaves. Women in hooded black garments that made them look like ragged crows, and swarthy men in flowing robes gathered in jabbering groups to watch the pitiful procession.

  Nassara noticed that the hooded women were no less enthusiastic than the men in their jeering gestures, the objects of their derision the bobbing genitalia of the chained young men as they trotted, so dreadfully shamed, their eyes downcast.

  Herded, they crossed a wide, dusty avenue leading away from the harbour, before being taken up a narrow, cobbled street, bordered on each side by dark buildings. The whip-men ran faster now, pushing the slaves on, keeping them in line and making any curious bystanders move quickly aside, snarling at them or waving their whips until they shrank back to watch and wait for the ragged columns to pass.

  Winding ever upward, turning into streets each seeming narrower and darker than the one before, until it was as if they were in the midst of some hellish maze of buildings and passageways. The cobbled surface was strewn with filth, and despite Nassara’s attempts to dodge the vile deposits her bare feet were soon soiled, and sore from the harsh stones. The collar beneath her chin began to chafe from the constant pulling of the chain.

  Once, when she fell back slightly, her foot having snagged painfully against a jagged stone, she felt the sudden sting and momentary agony of a whip being lashed against her buttocks. She winced but did not cry out, cringing inwardly as the whip-man screamed at her, raising his implement threateningly again to goad her on, clearly delighting in her torment.

  At last they came to a high wall that loomed over them, and the procession halted abruptly. The slaves stood recovering their breath, waiting anxiously before a huge pair of iron-studded timber doors set in the wall.

  The leading whip-man, his face red and sweating heavily from exertion, rapped hard on them with the thick handle of his whip, and immediately a small hatch opened briefly, then the doors creaked open in a clatter of bolts and turning keys.

  The arched entrance led into a gloomy interior, where several large men with embroidered tunics and headdresses waited, motionless and grimfaced, studying the new arrivals as they entered.

  Nassara had never been in such a large, ornate building, which unnerved her as she looked up at the domed sweep of the ceiling, making her giddy. It was like being in a vast, empty tomb, and the now subdued voices of the whip-men, the panting breaths of the slaves, and the occasional clank of a chain, seemed to echo starkly back at her.

  The doors swung shut behind them, with horrible finality. The interior was gloomy now, and Nassara felt her anxiety return, like an oppressive cloak around her nakedness, but then another set of doors, slightly smaller than those behind them, wer
e opened, immediately flooding the interior with sunlight, and a wonderful fresh aroma of unknown and exotic flowers greeted her senses.

  The slaves, staring with disbelief, moved out into a large courtyard, bordered by pillars and intricate archways. Everywhere there were clusters of giant urns and tall pots, and a variety of rich, blossoming plants and lush foliage. Here and there stone statues of unknown figures stood, gazing down sightlessly on the maze of pathways that ran between raised stone structures draped with thick trails of greenery. Running water tumbled deliciously from fountains that ran down into lily-strewn pools beneath, making ripples on the glittering surface.

  The mere thought of cool, clean water was enough to torment the parched lips of the thirsty slaves as they gazed upon the extraordinary scene. But above all it was the breathtaking beauty and tranquillity that struck Nassara, such a contrast to the dreadful ugliness outside, and the evil sordidness of their ordeal thus far. She stood there, lost in awe and confusion, not daring to muster even the merest glimmer of hope out of such recent despair.

  Was this, Nassara pondered as her senses absorbed the bright, peaceful, scented place, just another cruel stage of their journey of misery? For one brief moment she wondered if she might have died along the way, having now entered paradise. But the welt on her buttock throbbed, and she knew she was indeed alive to its pain, and the reality if her living thirst grew with every passing moment.

  A sound came from along one of the pathways and several servant boys and girls came running, each carrying an earthenware jug. Barefoot, dressed only in pure white loincloths, their brown bodies moving lithely as they approached the waiting arrivals, they offered water.

  A girl with smiling eyes handed Nassara her jug, and drinking gratefully from it, Nassara marvelled at how cool and fresh the nectar was in her mouth, blissfully quenching the thirst that had nagged at her for so long. She gasped words of thanks to the girl, but the large eyes that occupied much of her pretty face were immediately lowered, avoiding Nassara’s gaze, as if in warning or disapproval.