Changed Circumstances

'CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES' A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune"

Chapter 25 "Publicly Shamed"

This is a story of erotic fiction meant for adult readers over the age of eighteen years

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) "To see all my stories go to groups.yahoo.com/group/SlaveNow"

Chapter 25 "Publicly Shamed"

Rafe

I try hard to remain calm and stay composed; but it's difficult. I look beyond Lionel Schuster to where my three former friends are standing with my Master and I see them sniggering at me. As I listen to their crude jokes I am ashamed of what I have become. I'm no longer a man entitled to look them in the eye or share in their conversations. In their presence I must avert my eyes and lower them to the ground and I'm obligated to maintain a respectful silence at all times. And in my silence, I have to listen to their cruel taunts and jibes as they make comments about me. To listen to these is one thing; to endure them is quite another.

I hear a somewhat juvenile reference to my "boner" - I think it was either Jack or Daniel who made the comment - and my resolve breaks. My tears sting my burning cheeks and I hear my choked crying. From deep within me a silent plea for help rises up and manifests itself as a loud cry to my Master to be spared any more indignities.

"Please, Master, Please?"

However, I'm not to be spared; my Master ignores me and instructs the slave dealer to "hurry along with the appraisal."

Standing in front of these five free men, I'm suddenly aware of an all-enveloping sense of my loneliness. My mind is shrouded in fog of black despair and hopelessness and wildly, I look around for some small sign of compassion. But there isn't any to be found in this room. Just a friendly gesture or a kind word would suffice but all I see is scorn and derision in the faces of my former friends and malevolence in Lionel Schuster's eyes. Even my Master looks on with immense satisfaction.

Then I think of Norge tethered alone in the courtyard and I draw strength from him. I know that tonight - providing I'm not sold - as we rest side by side in the solitude of our stall, he'll understand my anguish and give me the comfort I so sorely need.

Through my tears, I see Lionel Schuster standing before me and I hear his command to

"FLEX!"

I do as I'm instructed and the dealer reaches out to touch me.

"How's the examination going, Mr Schuster? Does my slave measure up?"

Guy Maratier is impatient. He looks at the expensive watch that until recently had belonged to Lucien Barrois. He is anxious to hurry things along; after all -how long does to take to appraise a slave? For some reason, he suspects Lionel Schuster is "taking his time" and savouring this opportunity to evaluate his new slave. The morning is moving on and he still has much to do. And he has a 12.30 pm luncheon appointment with his lawyer, Simon Barrow at the Belvedere Hotel that he must keep.

"Indeed he is, Mr Maratier." Lionel replies with a smirk, as he steps up to feel the hard, rounded balls of my biceps. "He's a fine slave and so far I can't fault him."

The dealer's hands move to my shoulders, poking and squeezing their rock like hardness. For a second time, I feel his hands glide down over the solid muscles of my chest; they pause long enough for him to twist and tweak my nipples into alertness and then continue down to poke and prod at the scalloped edges of my abdominal muscles. Again I suffer the indignity of him thrusting his finger into my deeply indented navel. Quite deliberately he ignores my genitals; instead he slides his hands down the outside of my legs to my feet. Then he orders me to move my feet apart before running his hands back up the inside of my legs - pausing in their upward journey to squeeze the corded muscles of my thighs - before coming to rest at my groin.

Now Lionel Schuster changes tack and I'm ordered to,

"Turn around and assume the obeisance position."

Of all the positions of "respect" demanded of a slave this is perhaps the most degrading. I'd just been in this position a few moments ago and humiliatingly I know this won't be the last time. This position is most popular with slave-owners and is one they demand of their slaves on a daily basis. It is one that I had frequently used with my slaves and now it's demanded of me.

I do as instructed and turn with my back to my "audience" and fall to my knees. I press my forehead to the podium and place my hands palms down on the floor, one on either side of my head. Suddenly, I'm acutely aware that my ass is now elevated and exposed to public scrutiny.

A slave placed in this position is totally debased. Viewed from the back, a slave's hind-quarters are on full display and are open to public scrutiny. Everything is on "show" and nothing is hidden. I'm so aware of my balls hanging low between my thighs and I'm acutely conscious that my anus is on display; I know this to be so because I feel both the stress this position places upon my sphincter and the quick contractions of my hole as it keeps pace with my rapid heartbeats.

I hear the shuffling of feet and looking back through my hind quarters I see my master and my former friends are grouping behind me for a better view of proceedings. Of course, from my lowly position, I can only see their legs and their upper bodies are obscured from my line of sight. On the other hand, I am on full view and I hear Daniel's sniggering reference to me.

"Hey guys! Look at Rafe's pucker. Isn't it cute?"

"Yeah! His rosebud is cute," I hear Jack's reply, "but I like the way his balls hang down better. I like how his cinch keeps them bunched together."

I'm aware of the five men now standing behind me; I hear the raucous, almost childish guffawing of my former friends - they are behaving completely out of character and I'd never seen them acting like this before. Their suggestive comments about what uses they'd put my "pucker" to if given the chance reminds me of a group of drunken louts rather than the educated men I know them to be.

To my great shame I feel hands grabbing at my buttocks and squeezing them hard in a test for their firmness. I blush as a finger travels from the base of my spine down through the crevice to my anus. The finger stops and begins to excite the sensitive tissue of my opening while other fingers stretch my buttocks apart. I assume the fingers belong to Lionel Schuster. I am correct and he confirms this by ordering me,

"Spread your knees, boy. WIDE!"

I do so and spread my knees as far apart as is physically possible. Humiliatingly, I feel my balls resting in the warmth of the dealer's cupped hand as he inspects them. He "jiggles" them up and down as they are hefted and weighed. I cry out as my cinched scrotum is roughly grabbed and cruelly pulled down and out through my parted thighs. I find this uncomfortable and I begin to wriggle in protest as each ball is assessed. This angers the slave dealer and his two sharp, open-handed slaps to my upturned ass resound loudly throughout the room. I cease my wriggling and he returns to the job "in hand". Firstly, my left ball is rolled between fingers and thumb before being gently squeezed; then it is the turn of the right one to undergo a similar examination. I am breathing heavily and I'm aware that my obscenely, displayed sphincter is puckering with each breath. My shame deepens as I hear Lionel Schuster give his verdict on me.

"His balls are sound and healthy and looking at him from this angle, I've got to say I'm impressed. His rear end is as near to perfect as it can be. And you're quite right Daniel. The slave does have a cute pucker. It'll be a good selling point with future buyers."

I kneel in humiliating defeat and my tears of shame blotch the floor of the podium beneath me. I have been gutted of my humanity, stripped of my manhood and reduced to the lowest level of existence. Now there is no longer any doubt about what I have become. I am an abject slave - totally!

But Lionel Schuster hasn't finished with me yet for I'm now ordered to,

"STAND AND DISPLAY!"

I stand placidly as he places a hand on either side of my narrow waist and moves them up the widening "V" of my back to my armpits. He orders me to raise my arms above my head so that he can watch the interaction of my shoulders with the different muscle groups and his hands glide smoothly over my back feeling the rippling effect of those muscles. Satisfied, he cups each of my tight buttocks in his hands and squeezes hard in a yet another test of their firmness. Now the order is given to

"BEND AND SPREAD. I need to give the slave the finger test to see how tight he is."

I'm amazed at how compliant I've become. I now carry out every instruction given to me quickly and without a second thought. Ironically, I think about how easily I have become an obedient slave. I bend at the waist and reaching behind me I take an ass-cheek in either hand and pull them apart until once more I'm obscenely displayed.

As I bend at the waist, the dealer kicks my ankles even wider apart. I look back between my out splayed legs and I see my "audience" once again shuffling into positions that give them a better view of me. The weight of my cinched balls hangs heavy between my legs and pull down on my semi hard cock. Once more, the slaver's hands grope at my rump and I feel his fingers moving up and down the cleft between my buttocks. Again he weighs my balls in a cupped hand as my scrotum is stretched out from my body. Then he reaches in between my thighs and pulls back on my cock and slowly teases its tip to judge my re-action to his stimulation. He seems pleased with my quivering response. Several times he pulls my cock away from my body and momentarily holds it before releasing it and allowing it to "slap back" in a test of its flexibility. Inevitably, with so much attention being paid to it my cock is massively erect.

I know what is to happen next and I try preparing myself for the inevitable. But knowing what is to happen is one thing and experiencing it is quite another; it doesn't prepare me for the wave of shame, humiliation and suppressed anger that I feel.

As I hold my buttocks apart for him, the slaver begins to gently tease my hole preparing it for his further exploration. Mentally, I struggle against this obscene assault on me. But even as I do so, I guiltily remember all those other slaves who, during my years as a free man, I had assaulted in similar fashion. I tighten my anus in a vain attempt to deny Lionel Schuster's finger entry into my body and he chuckles at my feeble efforts. Slowly, as I feel his finger teasing my puckering hole, I find myself gradually relaxing until without warning he trusts his finger deep within me. I have been lubricated and his entry is made easy. I gasp at the unwanted intrusion and I begin to wriggle in protest. Through my grunts of discomfort, I hear my plaintive begging

"MASTER! PLEASE! DON'T! PLEASE, Oh! Master please stop this. Please MASTER............."

My begging goes unheeded and is greeted with loud guffawing from my former friends.

Undeterred, the dealer persists and soon his finger is buried deep within me as it explores the warm, moist interior of my body. He is delighted with the "feel" of me and comments on this to my Master. He tells him that my hole has a silky smooth feel to it that will delight the most discerning of masters.

Slowly he works his finger in and out of my hole. He varies the depth of his strokes and speed of his thrusting all the time gauging my responses. At first, I do my best to resist and I strain valiantly to eject the finger. But this only serves to please him and he orders me to,

"Right boy, grip my finger! Grip hard! HARDER! Yes, that's it. GOOD! Good boy."

Though I am shamed by this I have no alternative but to obey and still he isn't finished with me.

"Let's see what you're capable of shall we? Use your arse muscles to 'milk' my finger. Now grip... relax......grip...... relax. Yes! Grip....... relax......Grip. Good boy. You're doing fine. GOOD! Keep going."

"The slave's hole is tight and he has good 'reflexes'. The clenching of the sphincter muscles is excellent. I like the way they grip my finger. Quite delightful! Now if that was my cock rather than my finger ............"

"What does that tell you about my slave, Mr Schuster?"

"What it tells me about him is that he'd make a superb pleasure slave as I said earlier. If he were my slave then that's how I would see his future. I take it he's untried?"

"I don't know. You'd have to ask him. You forget - until five days ago, I'd never meet him."

"Indeed Mr Maratier." Lionel Schuster acknowledges my Master's comments before asking me

"Have you ever been fucked? Have you ever had a man's cock in you, slave? Answer truthfully."

And as if to emphasise the question, he crudely thrusts his finger deeper into my body.

I am outraged at both his question and his assault on his body. I have never allowed any man, free or slave to enter me. I had always taken the 'lead' in my sexual encounters and any suggestion otherwise insults me. Temporarily, I forget that I am a slave and shout out my defiance.

"NO! OF COURSE NOT! NEVER!"

My defiance earns me two sharp slaps to my buttocks and an admonishment from the dealer.

"How dare you, slave! Show respect to your betters. Now answer truthfully - has another man ever used you?"

To emphasise the point he delivers another stinging slap to my ass with such force that I'm momentarily thrown off balance but his finger buried within me steadies me. Then, as I recover my footing and before I can answer, I receive unexpected support from Miles Fortescue.

"Rafe is telling the truth, Mr Schuster. Certainly Lucien Barrois would never have allowed himself to be fucked. Quite the contrary - he always enjoyed playing "top dog" in any of his sexual encounters. I can vouch for that."

"Well, those days are over for him I should think. From now on he'll be on the receiving end if that is what his master wishes. He'll have no other choice but to 'buckle under". Can I just say, Mr Maratier it would be to your advantage - and certainly to the slave's - to have him 'broken in' before offering him for sale? He does need to be trained into submission and my finger tells me he needs 'loosening up" - but not too much mind you - just enough to make ease of entry possible."

"Thank you for your advice, Mr Schuster." My Master dismissively comments, "I'll certainly consider them when I determine Rafe's future. Now let's continue."

"Face the front and display, boy!"

Fearing his anger, I quickly obey the dealer's instructions and I stand rigidly at attention with my feet apart and with my hands clasped behind my head. I don't have long to wait for the next assault on my body; with an easy assurance Lionel reaches out, grabs my scrotum and again toys with my testicles. He turns to my Master and tells him,

"As I said before, the slave has a good pair of knockers but we'll need to see what they're capable of, won't we?"

He slowly teases my deflating cock back into a full erection all the time playing with my foreskin either by sliding it up and down the shaft or stretching it out over my glans.

"Mr Maratier, this really needs to be removed. Is it your intention to have the slave skinned?"

"But of course! That's already in hand. Rafe will be circumcised within the next day or so."

"Good! A slave should have a smooth cock. Owners don't like to see a slave with a skin and it lessens his value. They regard an uncircumcised slave as unnatural. I don't know whether you're aware of it but we can provide an in-house 'skinning' service for about half the cost of what you'd pay a veterinarian. Are you interested?"

No, I'm not! I'm not at all interested. I've already made the arrangements for him to be done by a qualified vet. I take it you use the services of a veterinarian?"

"Well....... not exactly! But we have an overseer who is very skilled and much practised. Really you can't fault his handiwork. It's as good as any vet's work and it's much cheaper and our skinnings are guaranteed and ......."

Once more my Master doesn't allow the dealer to finish. He is curt in his reply and scathing in his comments.

"Let's be frank, Mr Schuster! Do you think I would entrust a valuable slave like Rafe to the ministrations of one of your 'butchers'. Never! No Rafe will be done by a qualified man and not by your handyman overseer."

All this talk about my impending circumcision is having a deflationary effect upon me and my cock quickly wilts. I shudder at my Master's words that I'm to be 'done' within "the next day or so. I'm well aware of what is involved in skinning a slave. I have seen it done often on newly enslaved men; the last one being Norge. I'd been present when Norge was circumcised and I'd watched to see that he didn't come to any harm. I recall his loud pleading to me to spare him and his torrent of abuse when I had disregarded those pleas and told the vet to carry on. Now his cries of outraged pain come back to haunt me.

Once more Lionel Schuster has been rudely rebuffed by my Master and he bridles at this slight to his dignity. I see the sheer hatred that he feels towards his "betters" reflected in his eyes. And this manifests itself in the malevolence he directs at me with yet another stinging slap to my face and the order to,

"STAND UP STRAIGHT, SLAVE! DAMN YOU!"

Valiantly, Lionel Schuster tries to rekindle my erection but he soon becomes frustrated with my non- compliance. My mind is too pre-occupied with what awaits me as I lie under the vet's knife.

"Relax, boy!" He commands me.

But how can I relax? The very thought of what awaits me dampens my ardour and shrivels my flesh. I know of the unimaginable pain that is involved with circumcision.

While within the free, male population, circumcision isn't practised, it is standard procedure for slaves. There are many arguments why slaves should be skinned. Some argue that it differentiates them from a free man and is a potent symbol of their slavery. There could be some validity in this; as a slave's natural state is complete nudity then he is forever conscious of his "difference". I'd never bothered myself with the reasons why my slaves were circumcised. It was something that just "was" and I went along with it.

Other owners argue it's a matter of hygiene and good health. Their reasons are very rarely spoken of because in polite society, it is considered "too indelicate". This is the possibility of an unpleasant odour emanating from a slave if he is left uncircumcised. No matter how many times a day an uncircumcised slave cleans himself the odour always returns. Obviously, this is a problem with a house slave; what master or mistress wants to be assailed by a slave's distasteful odour as he waits on table or serves them in the bedroom. A quick snip alleviates this problem to the owner's satisfaction.

However for most slave-holders it's a matter of ascetics. They believe a slave's appearance is enhanced by the absence of that superfluous flap of flesh attached to the slave's cock. I have to admit I fell into this category when I was free. Then, my personal preference was for a slave to be circumcised.

Although, I recall that it was Norge's prepuce that had attracted me to him when I first saw him in these very premises. Briefly, I enjoyed the novelty of an uncircumcised slave in my bed and I had allowed Norge to keep his foreskin until I'd tired of it. Inevitably my interest had waned and "off it came" much to Norge's dismay and anger. I recall how he'd begged me to let him keep it and when he saw I was unmoved, he'd subjected me to all kinds of verbal abuse drawing on his vast vocabulary of colourful seaman's language to do so.

I have seen circumcision performed on slaves so many times in the past so there is no mystery in it for me. I know precisely what will happen to me and I shudder as I think of what I about to endure. I wonder if my Master will have pity on me and allow the veterinarian to administer a local anaesthetic to ease my suffering. I know this will be entirely at his discretion.

Some of the more enlightened slave-owners do allow the vet to anaesthetise the slave. That they do so isn't necessarily for humane reasons; it has more to do with their concern for the slave as a valuable possession. They argue that the value of a slave warrants this consideration as they seek to minimise the risk to a slave's wellbeing by lessening his trauma. As a free man this had been my attitude to skinning my slaves and Norge had a beneficiary from my "humane" approach.

On the other hand, some owners adopt a more "frugal" approach; their chief concern is to minimise the cost of a circumcision by eliminating the expense of an anaesthetic. Usually these are the poorer "dirt farmers" who are notoriously penny-pinching and it doesn't matter to them if their slaves suffer under the vet's knife. A penny spared is a penny saved could well be their motto.

And some of the more traditional slave owners genuinely consider the pain suffered by a slave during his circumcision is beneficial to him. Like the branding iron, a slave's skinning impresses itself into his consciousness and is a constant reminder to him of the power that his master has over him.

I wonder into which category my Master will fall.

I'm jerked back to reality by Lionel Schuster's sudden sharp tug on my cock.

"Come on boy! Get it up! We haven't got all day. RELAX!"

I try my best to obey for I know what is now expected of me. Even though I don't want to be shamed further in front of my Master and my former friends, I know I must allow this vile creature to coax me into an erection. I do try and relax - unsuccessfully. This is unusual for me as normally I operate on a "hair trigger" and many of my daily erections are spontaneous. For some reason, I'm unable to comply with the slaver's instruction to "get it up".

Is it the fear of my impending "skinning" that deflates me? Or is it the shame and humiliation I'm being subjected to in front of my former boyhood friends? Perhaps it's a combination of both? I don't know. What I do know is that Lionel Schuster loses patience with me.

"What's wrong with you!" he shouts angrily, "Come on relax. Try, damn you! TRY!"

He varies the speed of his strokes as he vainly works my cock. The man's foulness repels me and I remain unresponsive to his ministrations. Once more He slaps my face - more out of frustration than anger - and releases his grip of my disobedient cock.

"I don't know," he exclaims exasperatedly, "what's wrong with him?"

"Perhaps Mr Schuster, if you were to be less excitable and more patient then the slave might relax." My Master's words surprise me. His sympathy for my plight is unexpected. "You only need to look at him to see he's under stress. Look at the way his muscles are all bunched up. And look at the way he is breathing so heavily. Surely that is a sign of his distress. I suppose the fact that he is a new slave makes him a bit emotional with all that's happening. Do you make allowance for that?"

"NO, I DON"T!" Lionel Schuster snaps. He is livid with anger. This slave is frustrating him and Guy Maratier's condescending manner has him almost at breaking point. "From my perspective - one gained from my many years in the slave trade, I might add - I don't accept that slaves have emotions. But if they do have them then they have no right to them and they are of no consequence to me. A slave always does as I want. He doesn't have the right of refusal. What this slave needs is for me to cane him hard. Do I have your permission to do so, Mr Maratier?"

"No you don't Mr Schuster. Punishing the slave is my prerogative, not yours."

"Then what am I to do with him? I can't get him to respond. Very rarely have I had a slave defy me in this manner? How am I to proceed?"

"Can I help?" Miles volunteers. "Perhaps the slave will relax with someone he knows and feels comfortable with rather than with a stranger. I'm willing to try. With your permission of course, Guy."

"By all means, Miles. Carry on." My Master gives his approval

As Miles stands in front of me, I nervously shuffle my feet and instinctively draw back as he reaches out to take my cock in hand. This is completely unexpected and I'm confused. Here is the man I'd always considered to be my best friend attempting to stroke my cock back into life. I look into his face and search for some sign of recognition of our former friendship. I see none. What I do see is the arrogance and indifference of a free man who is simply appraising a slave. I feel my tears slowly welling in my eyes.

Miles reaches out and slowly - almost caressingly - he strokes the left cheek of my face. His touch is gentle and his voice is soothing as he calms me. His approach is so different to that of the dealer. His gentleness is in contrast to the sharp, stinging slaps that Lionel Schuster had subjected me to. Yet there isn't any difference in their intent. Both men mean to control me; each in his way is bending me to his will.

"Relax Rafe; now let's see what you're capable of, shall we?" Miles speaks encouragingly to me.

I respond to Mile's soothing touch and my cock begins to slowly inch back into life. All the time, he softly "shushes" me and coos to me to relax.

Miles continues to stroke my cock to a rock-like hardness and at the same time he takes his hand from my face and begins to gently squeeze my balls. My body responds to this pleasant stimulus and I begin a slow to and fro' thrusting movement of my hips. I'm now aware of many sensations; my ass- hole, which just moments ago had been crudely excited by Lionel Schuster's finger, feels alive' and my cock and balls give promise of a cataclysmic eruption.

My body quivers under Mile's ministrations and I hear my gentle moans of intensifying pleasure.

As my prick hardens and lengthens, Miles is obviously fascinated at the erotic way my stomach muscles re-act to each thrust of my hips. I know from past experience that Miles has a weakness for a slave's belly. Miles was always a 'six pack' man. The sight of clearly delineated abdominal muscles and a deeply indented navel on a slave always aroused him. I recall occasions when, as teen- agers, we'd been watching slaves working in his father's fields and Miles had singled out a slave with a well-defined belly for his attentions. I'd watched with some amusement as Miles toyed with the slave. His pre-occupation with a slave's stomach bemused me. For my part, I'd always appreciated the whole slave rather than one particular part of him. To me a comely, young slave was a thing of beauty meant to be enjoyed in its entirety.

Now Miles has me standing before him as a slave and my own belly presents him with an inviting playground. Mine is a slave's belly and is fair game for him. He moves his hand up from my balls to my stomach and I tremble as the featherlike touch of his finger traces the outline of my own abdominals.

I see him watching the nervous rise and fall of my chest and he suggestively licks his lips as he takes in the rippling and flexing of my pectoral muscles as they expand and contract in keeping with my accelerated breathing. I hear my soft moaning and my nostrils are filled with the heady aroma of my own sweat as it slowly beads on my trembling torso.

And I'm aware of Mile's prominent arousal straining beneath his clothing.

Temporarily I forget the shame, humiliation and degradation to which I am being subjected and I abandon myself to the moment. As Lucien Barrois I had been attracted to Miles and though we'd never lain together, I'd fantasised about this many times throughout the years of our friendship. And I never knew if he harboured similar feelings for me. I think how ironic it is that this man to whom I'd been sexually attracted as a free man is now pleasuring me. But it isn't as I had fantasised for we are not equal; he is a free man and I am but as a slave. He has aroused me and raised me to a level of sexual pleasure that I'd always longed to share with him. But this isn't a sharing of mutual pleasure; it is unequal. He does so because he can and I do so because I must submit to his will. This choice isn't mine to make. It is his right as a free man - he does so with my Master's permission - and I can't refuse because I am my Master's slave.

I feel the mounting pressure of my impending ejaculation and I quicken the pace of my thrusting hips. Miles responds by increasing the speed of his strokes. I am almost at the point of no return.

"Guys, I suggest you stand further back or move to one side. I think Rafe is about to shoot and I wouldn't like to see him `unload' all over you". Miles laughingly suggests. "It could get a bit messy".

"MASTER! AAH............"

My loud shout startles my audience and forewarns them of my imminent ejaculation. Eagerly they position themselves for a closer look and I see the lewd looks on their faces as they wait. But I don't care; Miles has brought me to the brink of an intense orgasm and I'm no longer concerned. My feelings of shame and humiliation no longer matter. My legs tremble, my knees buckle and my defences crumble. I am beyond caring and I begin a faster, more furious thrusting of my hips as the semen pulses up my throbbing cock. My balls are churning and they ache for release.

Then from somewhere I hear Lionel Schuster's voice.

"Don't waste it boy. Catch it! Use your hand!"

I hasten to obey and place my right hand just under the head of my cock.

Then, I enjoy the delicious, sharp contractions as my cum explodes through the narrow confines of my piss-slit into my cupped hand. But so voluminous is my discharge that I'm unable to catch it.

"AAHHH!"

As I shout, my ejaculation arcs through the air to land with a soft "phat" on the floor before me. I'm no longer in control of my body and I continue to ejaculate with each emission just a little less powerful than its predecessor. Immersed in the ecstasy of the moment, I'm aware that Miles is still milking my balls- coaxing out my last remaining sperm. I tremble with emotion and feel my sphincter opening and closing in time with each of my spurts. All that is left to me to do is to grunt in pleasure.

Soon, I am spent and I stand looking at the remains of my ejaculation lying in small, gleaming pools on the floor before me. Looking down, I see the residue of my semen dribbling out of my still hard cock before threading its way downwards to the floor. Slowly, my trembling abates and I wait with my cupped hand held in front of me like an offering.

"Good boy!" Miles congratulates me by giving him a series of playful pats on my ass. His manner is condescending and reminds me of a rider patting a horse's rump after a good gallop.

"Slave, with a `display' like that you'll be a firm favourite with your Master. That was TRULY impressive, wouldn't you agree, Guy?"

"As you say Miles, it was MOST impressive. I'd say there was a lot of `pent-up' effort went into that". My Master laughs.

"Well boy! Let's see what you've got?"

Lionel Schuster moves quickly to re-establish his control over Rafe; the control that had been taken out of his hands by Miles' interference in the slave's inspection. He resents Miles intrusion into his affairs and he seethes inwardly at his arrogance. How he hates this insolent young 'pup' and what he wouldn't give to have him stand naked on the podium before him alongside the former Lucien Barrois.

As the dealer moves in front of me, I see his loathing for my Master and my three erstwhile friends reflected in his expression but he is careful to conceal this from them. Frustrated, I become the target for his bad humour. He grabs my wrist and examines my ejaculate before giving his verdict.

He comments on the volume of my discharge describing it as "adequate" but berates me for my wastage in not catching it all in my hand and for allowing some to spill onto the floor. Then he adds ominously.

"You'll have to clean up your mess from the floor, boy!"

He bows his head and sniffs before scooping up some of my cum on tip of his index finger and tasting it with his tongue.

"Good! Good! It smells sweet and it tastes sweet. Not salty and its fresh tasting. That's excellent. But he's young and you'd expect that from a slave of his age. Of course as he ages it'll become stale and bitter to the taste. But I should think that's still some way off for this boy."

My Master is growing impatient with Lionel Schuster and seeks to hurry him along.

"Is this really necessary, Mr Schuster? I mean - do we need to know that the slave's sperm is sweet tasting?"

"Indeed we do, Mr Maratier. Indeed we do! Some buyers place great store in that, believe me. If you decide to sell your slave, then he'll be subjected to the taste test without a doubt."

"I didn't know that." My Master's reply shows his newness and inexperience in assessing a slave as most are routinely tested in this way, "It all seems a bit perverted to me." He adds distastefully.

Then before the dealer has time to reply to this latest rebuke, my Master looks at his newly acquired watch - the one taken from me in the courtroom - and asks,

"How much longer will you be, Mr Schuster? I need to be on my way to an appointment very soon."

Lionel bridles at Guy's impatience. How dare he show such ingratitude? After all isn't he obliging this nouveau riche upstart by giving him a free appraisal on his new slave? Sometimes I wonder why I bother. These people haven't any notion of good manners. Despite their breeding, they lack even the most basic courtesies. Still, as is his custom, he doesn't allow his ill-humour to show.

"We're nearly done here, Mr Maratier. You'll soon be on your way. All that we need to do now is to test your slave for his strength and stamina in the exercise yard. But first, I'll get him to clean up his spillage from the floor. But with your permission of course."

"You have it! But PLEASE hurry it up will you?"

"Right boy! Get to work and clean up your mess."

I'm nonplussed by the slaver's instruction to me. I understand he wants me to clean up what he calls my "mess" - the remains of my ejaculation. But how am I to do this? And what do I do with the spunk cooling in the palm of my hand? Puzzled, I ask him.

"How do I do this sir? How do I clean it up?"

"STUPID SLAVE! Why with your tongue of course. Now down on your knees and make a start. Your Master is in a hurry, MOVE!'

I'm confused. The slave dealer must be jesting. Does he really expect me to get down on my knees and to use my tongue to clean up my spilled semen? Confused, I look to my Master for guidance,

"Master? Please ........."

"Rafe, you were given an order. Now obey it. You are on the brink of earning yourself another caning. When we get home, do you really want me to send next door for Pug to come over and stripe your ass?"

There is sternness in my Master's voice and yet I detect something else - his rebuke to me isn't altogether unkind. Normally a slave who hesitates to "jump" to obey an order legitimately given to him by a superior is punished without hesitation. I have hesitated and so I warrant punishment. Yet my Master seems to be given me a second chance to obey Lionel Schuster.

"No Master." My answer chokes in my throat.

"Then do as you are told. Clean up your mess."

Through the confusion of my thoughts, I hear Jack - at least I think it was Jack - saying

"This will be good! Watching as Rafe cleans up after himself."

Obediently, I fall to my knees. I haven't any other option but to obey or to suffer another caning from Pug and I don't have the fortitude to face that. Foolishly, I look at my cupped hand and realise I must "dispose" of its contents first. I'm repulsed at the thought of swallowing my own cum but I have no other choice. I raise my hand to my mouth and gingerly taste the cooling, glutinous mess. I don't know what I expected but I'm surprised by the neutrality of its taste. It is neither bitter - as I expected it would be- nor overly sweet. I use my tongue to scoop it into my mouth and I swallow hard. Involuntarily, my throat muscles contract but then relax enough for me to swallow. Now I lick my fingers clean. My effort earns me a compliment form Lionel Schuster.

"Good boy! Now that wasn't so hard was it? Now clean up the floor and later on - after your final test -I'll have a reward for you."

I know the reward to which he's referring and I shudder at the thought of it. Shortly, he is to claim his prize; to have me kneel before him and use my mouth to service his cock. And I now know I will have to swallow his semen. I cringe at the very thought of doing so.

The morning has turned into an endurance test that sees me humiliated and shamed at every opportunity. I have suffered much at the hands of my Master, Lionel Schuster and my former friends. I am at breaking point and silently ask myself - what more must I endure before they are satisfied? My shame and humiliation at their hands has robbed me of any residual self-respect that I had and I am overwhelmed by the hideousness of my fate. Not for the first time this morning, my eyes brim with tears and I suppress a sob catching at my breath. The enormity of my loneliness is just too much to bear. Oh, how I need Norge. But Norge isn't here. I am alone and I must obey the instructions given to me. Now I must do as the dealer has instructed and lick up my spilled semen.

Of all that has happened to me since my enslavement surely this is the worst. I am totally debased. I'm on my hands and knees with my head to the floor licking up the small, hardening pools of my own cum. My ass is elevated above my head and I'm acutely aware of the stress upon my anus. I feel my sphincter "winking" and instinctively I know all eyes are focused on it. Even as I apply my tongue to its distasteful work, I feel a foot placed between my legs forcing them further apart. And I hear Lionel Schuster comment.

"There now! That's better! That's opened him up to full view. We can see the whole of the slave now."

His double entendre isn't lost on the others. Their loud laughter resonates throughout the room and my face burns bright scarlet with my shame.

The chain shackling my ankle to the podium restricts my movements and several pools lie just beyond the reach of my tongue. The dealer instructs his assistant to unchain me and I'm now free to crawl forward and finish my work. With the last puddles cleaned up, I now kneel and wait as he instructs my handiwork. Apparently I have given satisfaction; Lionel Schuster orders me to.

"Stand and display."

"We're nearly done here, Mr Maratier." He tells my Master. "We'll test his strength and endurance and then we're finished."

The test of my strength and endurance is to be carried out in an adjacent courtyard and it is an area of the establishment I'm not familiar with. Subsequently it is all new to me.

To be continued......