Earth to Earth [Part 2]
By - email@example.com
published November 26, 2017
Castle Blutbad, Kingdom of Ruritania: 1848
Klaus paced thoughtfully up and down his study. “What preparations do you think we need to make for our departure to America, Igor? We only have forty-eight hours to get ready, remember…”
Igor sighed. “Otto has to be taken back to his village, the castle staff and farm workers must be paid off, dust sheets will need to be placed over all the decent furniture, any precious items too bulky to take must be secured in the strong-room, all perishables need to be cleared from the kitchens, portable treasures need wrapping for the journey, your things require packing, as do my own modest possessions, the horses we are taking must be fed and groomed, any steeds we are leaving behind must be sold, our travel route requires proper planning, the coach must be readied, your casket will need to be secured and several sacks must be filled with soil from your native land, Master…”
Klaus nodded. “Excellent…” He picked up a small book from his desk. “Well, while you get on with all of that, I think I’ll read a little poetry to pass the time…” He smiled abstractedly. “I’ve become so very lax regarding my Keats lately…”
Igor rolled his eyes, but bowed respectfully. “Yes, of course, Master…”
“Whose clothes are these?” Otto asked, looking in the mirror at the peasant smock and hob-nailed leather boots he was wearing.
“They’re yours; the ones you had on when you got here,” Igor replied testily. “The only reason you fail to recognise them is that they’ve been recently washed…”
Otto groaned and flexed his powerful shoulder muscles. “Damn… I feel totally weak all over, my entire body is aching and I’ve got a real sore neck… What happened last night? I can’t remember anything much after that great meal… Did I get totally wasted and fuck loads of pussy?”
“Something like that,” Igor said. “Now stop complaining and follow me upstairs to the carriage. The quicker we get you safely home to your delightful mother, the better…”
Once he had dropped Otto back to his cottage, Igor returned to the castle and began shovelling dirt from the kitchen garden into burlap sacks. According to legend, a vampire could not survive unless able to rest on his native soil and America was certainly not Germany…
Two hours later, Igor deposited the last load of earth into the tenth sack, carefully tied up the top and wiped the sweat from his brow. That should be enough… Reading poetry, indeed, he thought bitterly, for the twentieth time. It was just as well that someone around here actually did things… The problem was that it was always him doing them… For as long as he could remember he had been at someone’s beck and call, doing all the dirty work. First his parents, then the old master and now the Landgraf. Apart from a few idyllic years with his beloved first master, it added up to six hundred years of uninterrupted slavery! Sighing, he picked up the final sack and carried it over to the stables ready to be loaded into the coach. He often wondered how, if he had the opportunity to live his life all over again, he might have done things differently…
Constantinople, Ottoman Empire: 1475
Semi-naked, the slaves were led in a shuffling manacled coffle through the narrow streets towards the market square. Igor stumbled along with the others, his face red with indignation. It was the humiliation of the situation that was so crushing, he decided… He did not care that he was wearing only a skimpy loincloth or that he was being marched along in chains with a heavy iron slave collar around his neck. No, his embarrassment had nothing to do with any of those things… During the long and arduous journey from Muscovy to Constantinople, Igor had had plenty of time to discover exactly how his peers had ended up doomed to a lifetime of servitude… Many were soldiers captured by the Ottomans in battle, while the rest had been rounded up by the Turks during the regular raids they carried out on Muscovite villages. What really got to Igor was the fact that, so far as he could work out, he was the only one present who had been sold into slavery by his own dad…
Of course, if his mother had been alive, it would never have happened, but she had died of a fever the previous spring, leaving him alone with his father and three bonehead brothers… None of them had ever liked him… What use was a blacksmith’s son who was scared of being burnt by the furnace and who found that the banging of a hammer on an anvil always gave him a splitting headache? Igor always protested that it wasn’t his fault that he liked to keep himself clean… Every time he went anywhere near the smithy, his clothes became intolerably filthy within seconds… Unlike him, his father and brothers hadn’t seemed to mind the heat and noise and dirt…
So it was that, one fateful morning, Igor had found himself being shackled and hoisted up onto a slaver’s cart while his entire family looked on with gleeful smiles on their faces. Igor wouldn’t have minded quite so much if they had demanded a decent price for him, but from the look of the tiny copper coin the trader handed over, it would not buy his dad enough vodka to get even halfway drunk…
Once they reached the city slave market, the young men and women were placed on top of a large podium so that they could be seen by prospective buyers. Over the course of the next few hours, they were stared at, poked, prodded, pinched, squeezed, praised and insulted in turn. By late afternoon, the crowd had thinned, his fellow slaves had all been sold and Igor was the only one left standing on the podium. Yet another total humiliation…
Just then, a very exotic trio of African men approached. They were all tall and powerfully built, with skin the colour of ebony. Two of them, obviously bodyguards, wore turbans and were bare chested. Cruel, curved scimitars hung from the leather belts around their waists. Their master, a stately figure dressed in a full length embroidered robe, had an intelligent and ascetic face with an aquiline nose and a sensuous mouth. His oiled black hair and short, pointed beard were very curly and his sharp, brown eyes glistened in the warm afternoon sunlight.
Selim the slave trader slapped Igor sharply across the buttocks. “Look lively, bitch, it’s the Abyssinian Ambassador,” he whispered. “The market’s about to close, so this is probably the last chance I’ve got to sell you today. Make sure he fucking well buys you, because if I have to take you back to the compound, I’ll whip your arse raw…”
“What is this one called?” The Abyssinian asked, approaching and squeezing Igor’s left calf muscle between his calloused dark brown fingers. “He looks strong enough, I suppose…”
Selim consulted a battered and dirty scroll. “It says here that he’s called ‘Igor’, my Lord. A Slav from Muscovy, apparently…”
Lord Tadese Lebna’s hand moved further up Igor’s leg and began gently tickling his thigh. “I like his glossy black hair and those dark green eyes; most unusual in a Muscovite.” He fished a leather purse out of his robes and picked out two small silver coins, which he held up in front of the merchant’s greedy face. “I’ll take him for two talents…”
Selim shook his head. “Such a young one as this is easily worth five talents, Your Magnificence. If I sold him for any less I would be ruining myself…”
Lord Tadese examined the slave’s face. “He’s not that young; he looks at least twenty if I’m any judge.” He took out another coin. “Three talents and that’s my last offer…”
Selim bowed and opened his palm to accept the silver. “Thank you, my Lord…” He used a key hanging from his belt to open the heavy padlock which chained Igor’s ankle shackle to an iron ring set into the podium. “Would you like him gelded, my Lord? We provide a very safe castration service for only two extra talents…”
“No, thank you, that will not be necessary,” Lord Tadese said, wrinkling his aquiline nose with distaste at the idea. “If I wanted a slave without balls, I would buy a female…” A single click of his fingers brought his two enormous, heavily muscled Nubian bodyguards to attention. They both bowed low before their master. “Take this one to my apartments,” Lord Tadese instructed them. “Tell the staff to have him bathed, anointed and readied for me by this evening…”
This had been Igor’s initial introduction to his first master; Lord Tadese Lebna, Abyssinian emissary to the court of Sultan Mehmet II, ruler of the Ottoman Empire. He had not fully understood the conversation in the slave market, of course, as his knowledge of Arabic was still quite limited, but he had got the gist of it. At this early stage he knew absolutely no Amharic at all, so it was through a combination of gestures and light blows that Lord Tadese’s Abyssinian house servants stripped away the rags he was wearing, forced him into a marble bath and proceeded to scrub his body from head to foot. Once he was clean enough to satisfy them, they dried his skin with soft towels and then rubbed scented oils into his skin. Eventually, they dressed him in a long embroidered robe with matching cloth slippers, took him to Lord Tadese’s bedroom and left him there.
Igor tried the door, but it was both barred and locked from the outside. Escape via the window was impossible; although he was able to push open the heavy wooden shutters, the chamber was high up in a round stone tower at least sixty feet from the ground. He sighed and turned around to have a good look at the room. It was certainly the most luxurious chamber he had ever entered. The floor was strewn with brightly coloured Persian rugs. There was a large, low bed covered in what looked like exotic African animal pelts. Near this was a circular table on which had been left a silver water jug, two matching goblets and several plates piled high with bread and fruit. Igor approached the table and lifted up a bunch of black grapes. He popped one grape into his mouth and then another. They were incredibly sweet, but as soon as he swallowed them, his stomach began rumbling. He had not realised quite how hungry he was… He picked up one of the small flat loaves and bit a huge chunk out of it…
“Wake up, Igor…”
Igor opened his eyes. Where was he? He sat up on the bed. It was dark outside. How long had he been asleep?
A deep male voice beside him said, “You look incredibly beautiful lying there…”
Igor looked to his left. The Abyssinian who had purchased him was kneeling right next to the bed. The man’s tightly curled black hair and pointed beard were oiled and shining. They smelt strongly of some exotic perfume. Lord Tadese parted his full lips in a smile, revealing a set of perfect, beautifully white teeth, with more than usually long upper incisors. He reached out a lean brown hand and began gently stroking Igor’s hair.
“So very beautiful…”
Suddenly realising, to his astonishment, that the Abyssinian was speaking to him in his own mother tongue, Igor opened his mouth to reply, but became totally lost in the man’s large, deep-set, brown eyes. They were utterly entrancing… He did not move a muscle as the black man’s hand moved down from his face to begin caressing his chest. The long robe the servants had dressed him in earlier had somehow become unbuttoned from top to bottom and lay completely open, exposing his entire body. As the hand rubbing his chest was joined by another hand stroking his manhood, Igor gasped with pleasure. His cock was stiffer than he had ever known it to be in his life and was already leaking copious amounts of slippery, clear liquid. The handsome Abyssinian leaned close to his face and began kissing him tenderly on the lips. Igor felt the man’s tongue push inside his mouth and responded with his own. He had never felt so much sexual pleasure in his entire life… His dick felt ready to burst with excitement… Yes… Hmm… He was definitely coming…
As his seed gushed out over his stomach in hot spurts, Lord Tadese broke the kiss, moved his head to the right side of Igor’s neck and bit down savagely. There was momentary pain as the skin was punctured by the Abyssinian’s long, sharp fangs, but then ecstatic pleasure as Igor discovered that his orgasm was somehow being extended and prolonged by the fantastic sensation of sucking that replaced the bite. He dimly sensed that his blood was being drained away, but it felt so good that he decided he did not care… Meanwhile, his dick continued to pump out gouts of sperm until there was no more left inside him…
Feeling spent and weak, Igor began to drift away into sleep…
When Igor opened his eyes again he found that he was kneeling on the floor in front of the Abyssinian, who sat on the bed holding his head between his strong, brown hands. Suspended just in front of Igor’s gaping mouth was the largest dick he had ever seen. It had to be at least eight inches long and was as fat as one of the blood sausages his old grandmother used to make.
“Now it is your turn to suck, my slave,” Lord Tadese said, again in fluent Russian, as he pushed the enormous phallus between Igor’s lips and deep into his mouth. The grip on Igor’s hair tightened and his head was pulled backwards and forwards rhythmically again and again over the stiff brown cock. Igor felt the thick penis repeatedly sliding over his tongue and hitting the back of his throat, but, each time, just as he was about to gag, his head was pushed away and the dick retreated until it was again held just inside his lips. Igor soon sensed that some liquid was leaking out from the Abyssinian’s penis. It tasted delicious and he began actively licking at it as the brown dick continued thrusting over his tongue.
After a few minutes, Lord Tadese first began breathing more heavily and then started to gasp as the relentless skull-fucking began to bring him towards orgasm. At last, he gave a long, loud moan of pleasure as his warm, thick sperm began pumping out into Igor’s mouth.
“Drink and live, my slave…”
Igor gulped down mouthful after mouthful, but there was so much of the stuff that it flowed out and ran down his chin to splatter onto his chest. He felt fantastic! The sensation of weakness he had experienced earlier was replaced by one of total well-being. A surge of energy coursed through his entire body. He looked adoringly up at the smiling Abyssinian’s face as though seeing it for the first time. He now knew with total certainty who this magnificent man was… He was Lord Tadese Lebna; his beloved Master!
Constantinople, Ottoman Empire: 1476
“This blessing, or as some would have it, curse, was bestowed on me many years ago in Egypt,” Lord Tadese explained as he continued to teach Igor how to play chess. He moved one of his knights. “You are now in check because next turn I could take your king…”
Igor stared at the board and chewed at his bottom lip. Knights could not be blocked by other pieces, so he needed to move his king to a safe square to avoid losing the game… “Do you know who the first of your kind was, Master?” At last he saw that there was one square left that the king could retreat to.
“Very good, slave,” Lord Tadese commented on the move. “My bishop is blocked by your pawn.” He considered the situation carefully. “It is said that the very first vampire was Cain, the son of Adam, who killed his own brother and thus became the first murderer…” He slid his queen across the board and took the white pawn. “That is checkmate, I’m afraid, slave…”
Igor shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, Master, I did not give you much of a game…”
Lord Tadese patted his shoulder. “Not at all, Igor; in fact, you are learning extremely quickly. Chess takes many years to master.” He smiled, “I knew you were highly intelligent as soon as I first looked into your eyes in the slave market. That is why I chose you to be my special slave; you have brains as well as beauty.”
Igor smiled. He had never felt happier in his life than during these past twelve months. He was Lord Tadese’s intimate body slave, trusted confidante and constant companion. He dearly loved his Master, who was kind, thoughtful and wise. As well as the rules of chess, he had been taught enough Amharic and Arabic to be able to converse in both those languages and was gradually being educated to write in their different scripts. They both lived comfortably and well here in Constantinople and the more intimate moments they shared were absolute bliss…
“So, Cain was ‘cursed’ by God for the murder by being turned into a vampire,” Lord Tadese said, continuing their previous conversation.
“Immortality does not strike me as being much of a punishment for so heinous a crime, Master,” Igor remarked.
Lord Tadese laughed. “That is because you are young and lack wisdom, my beloved servant,” he said. “Trust me; after the first thousand years, life definitely begins to lose its appeal…”
“May I presume to ask how old you are, Master?”
“I was born at about the same time as Jesus of Nazareth,” Lord Tadese said. “So I am roughly the same age as the present Christian year: one thousand, four hundred and seventy-two, or thereabouts…”
“You look but thirty at the most, Master,” Igor said.
“That is the age I was when I travelled to Egypt and met the vampire priest of Osiris. Once he had converted me, I completely ceased ageing…” Lord Tadese chuckled. “If you think I am ancient, you should have seen that Egyptian who bit me. He maintained that he was transformed by Cain himself, and, although I am not sure he was telling the truth about that, he was certainly many thousands of years old. He had served hundreds of Pharaohs and claimed to have witnessed the building of the pyramids.”
“Is he still alive now, Master?”
The Abyssinian shook his head. “No. He was destroyed while I was still residing in Egypt, about ten years after he converted me.” He shrugged. “Egypt was occupied by the Romans at the time and the silly old thing got caught feeding on a centurion one evening and was immediately arrested. They crucified him that night and, as soon as the sun rose, his body burst into flames and burnt to ashes…”
“The sun does not appear to hurt you, Master…”
Ser Tadese grinned. “That is because I have not yet died. I am a living vampire and, as such, I am not in the least affected by the sun. It is only once a vampire dies and rises again from the grave that he or she must henceforth skulk in the shadows. The technical term for it is ‘un-death’, I believe.” He shivered. “I hope that it will be many more years until I am forced to hide from the light; I would imagine that it is most inconvenient…”
Lord Tadese had not drained any more blood from Igor since that first night of his enslavement. Every two weeks or so, they would travel together out of the city to the countryside where a lone shepherd or goatherd might easily be found who could slake the Abyssinian vampire’s thirst. Lord Tadese was always most careful to ensure that his ‘chosen ones’, as he called them, were never drained of enough blood to kill them. Once his Master had fed, Igor would see to it that the unconscious young man was made as comfortable as possible in a sheltered place secure from wild beasts, with food and water placed nearby so that, when he awoke, weak and spent, he could safely recover his strength.
Igor always looked forward to his Master’s feedings because it was then that he would receive the gift of Lord Tadese’s miraculous seed. As soon as the Abyssinian had drunk his fill of blood, Igor would kneel down and take his Master’s magnificent brown penis between his lips. The sperm, when it pumped out into his mouth, tasted like nectar. Lord Tadese assured him that, so long as Igor regularly drank his seed, he would never age or get sick and would grow both faster and stronger. This was all undoubtedly true; Igor had never felt better; his body was now more muscular than his father and brothers had been and he could even see perfectly in the dark.
One afternoon, late in the year, a courier arrived all the way from Addis Ababa with a coded scroll from King Tewodros. Lord Tadese broke the seal, read the message and let out a deep sigh.
“You seem troubled, Master…”
Lord Tadese affectionately rumpled Igor’s hair. “It is bad news, I’m afraid, my dear. We must leave the comfort and luxury of this most sublime city and travel north through the Balkans to Wallachia. King Tewodros wishes me to contract an alliance between Abyssinia and the local ruler, who is a Christian, like ourselves.”
Igor shrugged. “Be assured that I will work hard to ensure that the journey is made as comfortable for you as possible, Master…”
Lord Tadese shook his head. “It is not the discomfort of the journey I fear, my beloved slave. The Wallachian king is, to say the least, somewhat uncouth and volatile…”
“How so, Master?”
Lord Tadese smiled sadly. “His name is Vlad Dracul, but he is better known as ‘Vlad Tepesh’ or ‘Vlad the Impaler’…”