This is a copyrighted work of fiction. All rights reserved.
All characters who engage in sex in this story are at least eighteen years of age.
Warning, this story contains explicit descriptions of male/male sex.
Many thanks to my editor Lin Hall for his sharp eye and sharper wit. Also, I am very appreciative of my beta readers, nomoretears00 and Josh, for their perceptive comments and encouragement.
Sex Slave - 6: Tolsten
It was Tolsten's eighteenth birthday. He sat with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He shivered, although he wasn't cold. He hated change. In his experience, a change was always bad. He rested his head on his arms and rocked back and forth.
He was alone in the large room. He guessed that it was home to a couple of hundred slaves. All of the places along the walls had been claimed, blankets and bowls delineating each slave's spot. Blankets were scattered here and there throughout the room as well—those who had come later, or maybe were weaker, had the inferior, less protected spots.
Tolsten had put his blanket on the stone floor in the middle of the room. He had no idea what the dynamics would be like in the adult pen. He prayed that he would not be hurt too badly.
He already missed his friends from juvie, and he had only been away from them a few hours. They would all be turning eighteen over the next few years too; maybe he would see some of them again, someday. He felt the familiar ache of loss, constricting his chest and making his heart feel heavy. A tear leaked out of his eye and he brushed it away quickly. He did not want to appear weak when the other slaves arrived.
****
Keven noticed the boy right away. When they returned from the rock quarry one afternoon, he was sitting on his blanket watching them file into the slave pen. He looked young, unhappy and very scared.
His looks were unusual. His dark brown hair hung sleek and shiny down his back to his waist and was tied back with a scrap of black cloth. He had prominent cheekbones and his nose had been broken, but was not unattractive. His huge brown eyes were wide-set and framed with long, very dark lashes. He was thin, almost gangly, although his arms and stomach had defined muscles and his chest and shoulders showed promise of broadening still in the coming years. His movements were surprisingly lithe and graceful. When he stood, Keven discovered that they were almost the same height, the youth being only an inch or so shorter.
There was something oddly compelling about the young man and Keven felt strangely drawn to him. He seemed vulnerable. Hurt. Damaged in some way, but also spirited—an enigma. Keven felt a strong urge to protect him.
He found himself keeping an eye on the youth. He looked for him first thing in the morning, as if to assure himself that he hadn't disappeared overnight. Off and on throughout the day, he would find himself searching until he spotted the boy. He told himself he was just worried about him, since he seemed so defenseless.
Often when Keven glanced toward him, he discovered that the youth was watching him as well. The young man would avert his eyes quickly and sometimes his cheeks would color slightly. This pleased Keven for some reason.
He was the most exciting thing that had happened in the pens since Keven's arrival. Other slaves had come and gone, and he had hardly taken notice. But this one was different. Beautiful. Vulnerable. And strangely desirable.
Desirable?
Keven tried to shake the thought out of his head.
Where is this coming from? It's been too long since I've seen a female! Still ... he's got that long, gorgeous hair ...
The fear that was so apparent on the youth's face the first day faded, replaced by a haunted look in his eyes that made Keven's heart go out to him even more. He had surely endured much misery already in his young life.
Keven could tell that he was not new to slavery. There are certain mannerisms that slaves pick up, and the boy had them. He also had several slave stripes on his back that were at least a few years old. Hot anger bloomed in Keven's chest when he saw them. Who would torture a child so?
Another clue that he had been a slave for years was the length of his hair. All slaves were fully shorn upon arrival at the estate to ensure they did not bring parasites into the slave pens. He had been a slave long enough for his hair to grow all the way down his back.
On the third morning after the boy's arrival, Keven found himself shackled next to him on the slave chain. They walked together and talked on the way to the quarry. He discovered the young man's name was Tolsten, and that he was from Kenezia. Keven's country, Endora, was at war with Kenezia, but he saw no cause to hold that against him. Most common people had no control over their leaders, and Kenezians less than most.
Tolsten had been at the estate since age thirteen. He said he missed his friends from the juvenile pen, but he was being treated better in the adult pens so far. The handlers were not as brutal as those in juvie, he said.
Keven suppressed a shudder when he heard this. All the handlers he knew were ruthless, and he couldn't imagine becoming a slave at the tender age of thirteen. But Tolsten shrugged off his comments. He didn't seem to want to talk about himself. He was much more interested in finding out about Keven's life.
Keven, by turn, was evasive on the details of his upbringing. He still had told no one that he was the rightful King of Endora. He did not think that fact would get him any points in the slave pens. He could not hide his nobility, however. He was educated and refined. Tolsten was most impressed.
Over the next several weeks, Tolsten managed to be next to Keven on the slave chain, or working near him in the quarry often, and Keven enjoyed his company. He had a surprisingly positive outlook considering all that he had been through. He was full of energy and was quick to smile and laugh. He reminded Keven of an exuberant puppy. Sometimes he wiggled so much it almost seemed as if he were wagging a tail. But the haunted look never left his eyes.
Keven had been a slave in Master Rim's hell-hole for ten long, lonely months. His closest companion was Rees, a fellow countryman who had saved his life. He had made a few other friends in the pens as well, but he missed home terribly. And he missed Saeri.
He thought it strange that he thought of her so often after all this time. He had spent a week with her seven months earlier and hadn't seen her since. He had barely kissed her, but that kiss was burned indelibly into his brain. He played it back several times a day—even now—seven months later! He wondered if he would ever see her again, if she still even worked at the estate. He had questioned the new slaves coming into the pen, but none of them had word of her. It was a very large estate with thousands of slaves. Maybe she was still working at the infirmary, helping with new arrivals, or maybe she had been moved somewhere else. It was frustrating and depressing not to know.
During his time in slavery, he had seen no opportunity for escape. His master was a maniac who had savagely whipped him, almost to his death. The slave handlers were vicious and brutal, and many of the slaves were not much better. Had it not been for his friendship with Rees, he would have been truly miserable.
After long days of hauling rocks in the quarry, Keven never had any trouble falling asleep, but he often woke in the middle of the night. He would lay wrapped in his blanket, thinking about his past, wondering about his future, and feeling quite melancholy and hopeless.
It was then that he would usually masturbate. There was no privacy in the slave pens, but the other slaves would be mostly asleep, and he would be discreet under his blanket. Afterward he would fall back to sleep feeling better.
It was after one such interlude, just when Keven was about to drift off again, that he was brought wide-awake by a small cry. He propped himself up on his elbow and peered across the dimly lit room. The cry was followed by a whimper and someone whispering in harsh tones.
