'CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES' A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune"
Chapter 26 "An Act of Kindness"
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 26 "An Act of Kindness":
Rafe:
As we move out of the coolness of the building into the courtyard, I'm reminded once more of the day's heat. The high, brick walls enclosing the yard and the cobblestoned surface reflect the heat back with furnace like intensity. One end of the yard is overhung by an awning and Lionel Schuster, now aware of my Master's low tolerance of heat, suggests that they move into its welcoming shade. While my Master and my former friends settle into chairs grouped under the awning, Lionel dispatches one of his slave assistants to fetch cool drinks and refreshments for his guests. The other waits with me.
I'm left to stand alone with Lionel Schuster's slave in the full glare of the sun's heat and within seconds beads of sweat are forming on my naked body. The suddenness of this heat after the coolness of the inspection room affects me. I feel dizzy, my vision is blurred and my parched throat screams out for water. But gradually I adjust; my dizziness disappears and my sight clears. Only my thirst is left to bother me.
My curiosity gets the better of me and as I gaze around the yard, I'm puzzled by what I see. Nearby are six roughly hewn timber beams each approximately six feet long and of varying thicknesses. Midway along their length they are stained dark. I wonder about this and I'm not to know it is the accumulated sweating of countless slaves who have carried these beams across their bare shoulders. Shortly, my own sweat will further darken these beams.
At the opposite end of the yard is a pile of rocks of various sizes. These range from very small to very large and I wonder what part they are to play in my test of strength and endurance. There is no doubt in my mind that the beams and rocks are to be part of that test.
Enviously, I watch as the slave returns with a tray of iced tea for his master and his guests. I watch as the slave pours the icy cold beverage into tall, frosted glasses. I am tormented as I see my Master and my former friends quickly empty their glasses and ask for refills. I lick my dry lips and imagine the cool liquid slaking my thirst. However, there's to be none for me. Oh, how I long for just one sip to ease my parched throat. Just one sip would suffice. I wonder should I beg my Master for water.
Then I remember how I would have re-acted as a free man had a slave dared to beg me for water under these circumstances. I would have been outraged and the slave would have paid a high price for his temerity. Slaves must wait on their master's pleasure and never pre-empt his decision. That is one of the fundamentals of a master and slave relationship. Fearing my Master's displeasure, I decide that I will put up with my thirst and endure it in silence.
Refreshed, my Master and Lionel Schuster turn their attentions to me. I hear my Master ask.
"Tell me, Mr Schuster. What's involved in this test? Could you explain it to me, please?"
"Certainly, Mr Maratier. What this test will tell us is how strong your slave is and what level of endurance he has. He looks good, I'll grant you that and he has a superb musculature. But looks can be deceptive. Sometimes a slave's muscles can be all "show"- and borrowing a phrase my late father was fond of quoting - "they're all potato and not much meat." We need to know how much "meat" your slave has."
"And how do you do that?"
"Beginning with the lightest, we'll have him carry those beams one at a time from this end of the yard to the opposite end and place them on the ground before picking up a rock from the pile you can see down there and returning with it to this end. The same principle applies to the rocks; he begins with the smallest and builds up to the largest. Then he repeats the process until all the beams are at the opposite end of the yard and the rocks are piled up at this end."
"I see. That's quite ingenious. I'm reminded of a game "throw and fetch" I used to play with my dog when I was a boy. His name was Rafe too. We both loved that game - I'd throw a ball or a stick and Rafe would run to pick it up and fetch it back to me. We used to play for hours."
"It's something like that, I suppose. Usually I start the slave off lightly; as I said he begins with the lightest beam and rock and gradually build up to the heaviest. That way I can gauge his strength and see at what stage his endurance peters out."
"How do you gauge his strength and endurance?"
"As the slave carries his load I look at the stress placed on his muscles. I like to see a slave's muscles stretched to their fullest. Each beam increases incrementally in weight and this way I can tell when the slave has reached the limits of his strength. And it's the same with the rocks."
"I'm impressed, Mr Schuster. It all sounds very scientific."
"It is, Mr Maratier. Each beam and rock has been carefully weighed and as I said each is heavier than its predecessor. I'm able to tell when a slave has reached the limits of his strength by the maximum weight he is able to carry."
"Then what about his endurance? How do you know when he's reached that?"
"Oh, that's easy." Lionel Schuster laughs. "It's obvious when the slave has reached the limits of his endurance; his knees buckle under the weight of his load and he collapses to the ground."
"How does the slave carry his load?"
"I have him carry the beams across his shoulders and the rocks above his head with his arms fully extended."
"Do many slaves manage to go the whole distance? How many carry all the beams to the opposite end and fetch all the rocks back to this end?"
"Not many! Very few manage that. On average they are able to carry two, possibly three beams. That seems to be their limit. Occasionally, I'll have one who can handle all the beams and the rocks. They're usually strong, brutish types and I have to say they're the exception rather than the rule."
"That few? I expect my slave to do better than to carry only two beams."
"Looking at him, I reckon he'll manage three comfortably and he might even get to four. But I'd be surprised if he goes beyond that. He looks strong but something tells me he lacks stamina."
"Why do you say that, Mr Schuster?"
"Well I mean no offence, Mr Maratier. Although your slave looks impressive and has a good musculature he looks to me to be soft. I feel its all window dressing - obtained in a gymnasium. That might add to the slave's ascetics but in my experience a slave only acquires true strength and stamina through long, hard physical labour. Your slave lacks that, I'm afraid."
"No doubt you're correct. I doubt Rafe would ever have done an honest day's work in his life as a free man. But I intend to change that. I'm sending him out to my plantation to work as a field slave for six months. There, I imagine he'll acquire all the strength and stamina you say he is lacking."
"That's an excellent idea! Hard labour never hurt any slave. Certainly working in your fields will toughen him up."
"Tell me, Mr Schuster, does the slave walk or run when he carries his load?"
"Usually I let him walk. Even the lightest beam is quite heavy."
"Well I'd like to see my slave run. Walking sounds too easy"
"Are you sure about that, Mr Maratier? It might be beyond his capabilities."
"Well, we won't know until we test him, will we?"
"Right!" The dealer is hesitant. "If you're quite sure you want him to run..........."
"Yes, I do!" My Master's reply cuts across Lionel Schuster's question. "Let's get him started, shall we?"
Lionel Schuster points me in the direction of the beams and as I approach them I see they are numbered from one to six with number one being the lightest and number six the heaviest. I am ordered by him to pick up number one beam. As I bend at the waist to do so He shouts angrily at me,
"Not like that you stupid dolt! Pick it up properly. Bend at the knees and keep your back straight. We don't want you injuring yourself. Remember you are your Master's property and I'm sure he doesn't want to see that property damaged."
I have no other choice but to bear his insults. Calling me a "stupid dolt" is bad enough - how dare he do that - but his reference to me as my Master's "property" cuts deep. With a sickening feeling deep down in the pit of my stomach I realise that is what I am to these people. I am an object to be possessed, abused, bullied, worked and punished at my owner's whim. And I'm told I mustn't injure myself, not out of any concern for me as an individual but because I am my Master's property. It is at this moment that I truly feel like an owned slave.
The beam - although it's the lightest of the six - is still incredibly heavy. I do as I'm instructed and bend at the knees and keep my back straight. All the time I'm aware the slaver is watching me intently and ominously for me, he holds a vicious looking cane in his right hand. He instructs me to slowly ease the beam into a balancing position my left shoulder and then he orders me to stand. This is easier said than done.
I use my legs for leverage but the heavy burden on my left shoulder throws me off balance and I topple sideways. Impatiently, Lionel Schuster puts his cane to my back and shouts angrily,
"GET UP! Try again."
I struggle into position and once more ease the beam onto my left shoulder. I strain to stand and fearing the cane I draw on hidden reserves of strength. Slowly I straighten my legs and ease my body upwards until I'm standing erect. Now I'm told to position the beam across my shoulders just behind my head and to hold it steady by looping my arms over it. I try desperately to do as I'm told. But the unaccustomed weight on my shoulders makes me wobble precariously as I fight to find my equilibrium. Another swipe of the cane - this time on my ass - convinces me to do better.
The weight is appallingly heavy and I shudder as I realise this is the lightest of the six beams that I am to carry on my shoulders. The thought that each will be heavier than the one before it troubles me - how will I ever manage. The roughly hewn beam is already chafing my shoulders and my legs tremble and my knees sag under the intolerable weight I am bearing.
The late morning sun blazes down on my unprotected body and I feel its intensity burning into my skin. I'm sweating profusely and this loss of body moisture only adds to my thirst. I convince myself that I am in the early stages of heat exhaustion and I hear my parched voice begging for relief.
"Master! Please Master! Can I have some water, please?"
At first my request is ignored and I am punished for my forwardness by yet two more swipes of Lionel Schuster's cane.
"Shut your mouth, slave. Now start walking. Move your lazy ass."
I watch enviously as my Master and his guests refill their glasses with the icy-cold beverage and I'm seized with a sense of my own powerlessness. Little things like spontaneously choosing when to have a drink of water are now denied me. That decision is no longer mine to make and I am dependent on my Master's judgement as to when I'm given my food and water. As a slave I'm not allowed to ask - but I have just broken this rule - and now I'm fearful of my Master's anger. Will he punish me for my temerity?
But my thirst is real; my dry tongue clings to the roof of my mouth and my parched throat cries out for relief. So great is my distress that I decide to I will do anything for just a sip of water. I put aside my fear of the cane and risking my Master's displeasure, I once more beg for water.
"Please, Master! Can I have some water? PLEASE?"
"I told you to shut your mouth and start walking."
The two, loud thwacks as Lionel Schuster's cane falls on my unprotected body reverberates around the enclosed yard and is quickly followed by my cries of pain.
"NOW MOVE!"
I jump to obey the dealer's order but then the unexpected happens. We are all startled by Miles shout.
"WAIT!"
Miles walks towards me holding a glass brimming with water. He offers the glass to me and says simply.
"Here! Drink boy."
His action is unexpected; this is the first act of kindness -if indeed it is kindness -which I've received this morning and I'm overwhelmed by it. I look into Miles eyes looking to see if he has pity for my plight. He speaks encouragingly to me as once more he offers me the glass.
"Here Rafe. Take it!"
I don't need any second bidding; I take the glass and in one quick gulp I empty it. Never has water tasted better or sweeter. It doesn't completely quench my thirst but it does ease the dryness in my mouth and throat.
I'm surprised by Miles unexpected act of kindness and I think perhaps he does have some residual regard for me even though we are irretrievably separated by my slavery. Does he still remember our long friendship? Is that the reason behind his kindness to me? He'll never know the effect his thoughtful action is having on me. Because I'm a slave, I can't initiate a conversation with him but my gratitude to him is real -and it's not just because of his gift of the water. No, it has more to do with his simple act of compassion for a slave in distress. My tears of gratitude flow freely down my cheeks and I hear myself blurting my heartfelt thanks to him for his unexpected act.
"Oh! Thank you sir, Thank you! Thank you!"
Miles replies softly.
"That's all right, Rafe."
It is then that I become aware of the silence. Suddenly, all talking has ceased and it is obvious that my Master and the others are stunned by Mile's action. Suddenly, I become afraid. I realise that my Master hadn't given his permission for me to be given the water to quench my thirst - indeed he'd ignored my pleas - and I'm now aware that Miles took it upon himself to do. And without thinking about the consequences I had accepted it. I know that I am at fault and my Master has every right to be angry with both Miles and me. But more so with me.
Miles was wrong to do what he did. He hadn't the right to usurp my Master's wishes or to interrupt Lionel Schuster's inspection of me. If I was still a free man, I would be outraged by his action. When I was free, I'd never have intervened in another free man's control of his slave and as a master I wouldn't have tolerated Mile's interference. We would have had a vigorous exchange of words. That my Master remains silent is a reflection of his inexperience. He is only days into his new role as my Master and, as yet, he lacks Mile's knowledge of slaves and the easy self -assurance that is the hallmark of his class.
Still from my perspective, Mile's intervention is welcome. Perhaps it's my paranoia but I am convinced I'm on the verge of collapsing from the oppressive heat. It is some hours since I last drank water and I am sweating profusely. I am rapidly losing my body moisture and it's not being replaced. No wonder then that I am feeling weak and light-headed. I am grateful to Miles for this unexpected kindness. I don't know the reasons why he did this but they are immaterial. He showed compassion and helped me in my moment of need. For that he stands tall in my eyes.
However, Mile's action is a cardinal breach of etiquette. It is an accepted convention that no free man has the right to interfere between another free man and his slave. Miles has breached this rule and my Master is entitled to feel slighted and angry. Of course, he can verbally express his feelings of annoyance to Miles but if he wants to give physical emphasis to his angry then it will be directed at me. My request for water caused this situation and I'm to blame. I look towards my Master and the angry scowl on his face doesn't bode well for me. I am convinced I'll be punished. Upon our arrival home, will my Master send next door to the Colonel's and "borrow' Pug to administer another caning to me? If so, I'm to pay a high price for my drink.
"Mr Maratier! I must protest," Lionel's Schuster's words are full of self righteous indignation, "at this unwarranted intrusion into my handling of your slave. I thought I had control of him whilst he was under my inspection?"
"And you do Mr Schuster! I'm as surprised as you are at Miles's interference. I think he owes us an explanation."
"Indeed he does, Mr Maratier!"
"Well Miles! What have you got to say for yourself?"
"OK, Guy! I overstepped myself and I apologise for that. But let me explain why I did what I did. I could see your slave was very distressed and I thought he was on the verge of collapse and...."
"I think I'm a better judge of a slave's endurance," Lionel's spits out, "I know how far I can take a slave before he reaches the end of his tether. This slave was far from that point, I might add. I think you were acting out of loyalty to an old friend."
"Rubbish Mr Schuster. Rafe isn't my friend. How can he be? He's a slave. My point is that you are driving him too hard He's distressed from the heat and the lack of water. Just look at how he's sweating - it's pouring out of him. My concern is that Guy's property isn't harmed or damaged in any way. After all, Rafe's a valuable animal and needs to be treated with that in mind. It's as simple as that; no more or no less."
"Are you suggesting I don't know how to handle a slave properly?" The dealer's face is livid with rage. "I've been dealing in slaves longer than you have lived. How dare you suggest otherwise......BOY?"
Lionel's use of the word 'boy' is meant to be insulting to Miles. It's a derogatory term reserved exclusively for addressing male slaves of all ages. Even if a slave lived to be eighty - highly unlikely as most don't live much beyond middle age - he'd still be called boy. Therefore its use to address a free man is highly provocative and insulting. Lionel Schuster has overstepped the bounds of good taste and manners and, too late, he realises his blunder. His frustration at the ongoing condescending manner of these four, intolerable upstarts and his anger at Mile's usurping of his authority over the slave have caused him to lose perspective. Still there is no way he'll back down to them. He knows he should offer an apology to Miles but that won't happen.
Mile's answer is a considered one. His good breeding won't allow him retaliate in the same angry vein.
"It's unfortunate that you have chosen to personalise our discussion, Mr Schuster. I didn't suggest for one moment that you lack expertise in your profession. But it seems to me we have two sets of values at play here. I see you as a dealer in human flesh interested only in short term gain from selling a slave. However, I see things quite differently to that. As a member of a slave owning family I see the long term potential in a slave. Slaves are valuable resources that we use to improve our standard of living and to maximise our profits. A slave is like a valuable piece of machinery and we don't abuse our machinery do we? Why then would we abuse our slaves? That's the real difference between us, Mr Schuster. You see things as a slave trader. On the other hand, I see things from a slave-holder's perspective."
I'm listening intently to this exchange between the two men. And I realise I'm the cause of it all by my plea for water to ease my thirst. I look at my Master - he too is listening to what Miles is saying with great interest. It would seem that Miles is getting the better of the discussion. But I'm not surprised. Miles is an intelligent man and a worthy representative of his class - the same class to which I'd belonged until five days ago. I know Miles of old and I know that his answers to Lionel Schuster would be considered, designed to put the dealer in his place and meant to show the social disparity between the two. Mile's reference to Lionel Schuster as a slave-trader does that most eloquently. Miles has reminded Lionel Schuster of his true position in society - that he is a despised dealer in slaves.
My own distaste for the dealer takes delight in his discomfiture. He seethes in anger, the veins in his neck bulge and his face is an apoplectic red. I'm not aware that I am smiling but I'm now accused of doing so and I soon regret this. Whether or not my smile is real or imagined, Lionel Schuster looks at me and screams.
"What are you smiling at boy? Get that fucking smirk of your face"
To give emphasis to his words he begins to lay into me with his cane. He has lost control and gives full vent to his frustration and rage. As his blows land on my shoulders, I try to shield myself from his fury. Then through my cries of outraged pain, I hear my Master's voice.
"STOP! That's enough Mr Schuster."
My Master's words act as a circuit breaker and the blows cease.
My Master's anger is palpable. He walks over to me and instructs me to turn around while he inspects my back. I feel his fingers trace out the angry red welts and I flinch at his touch. Finally he is satisfied.
"There's no damage done to my property, Mr Schuster. It's as well for you he isn't injured or you'd answer to my lawyer. Now put your cane away, please?"
Then he turns to Miles and asks.
"And now Miles, tell me - why did you interfere with Mr Schuster's inspection. Why did you give MY SLAVE water when I'd not given permission for him to drink?"
"Look! I'm sorry Guy if I've offended you but I really was concerned for your slave. My experience told me he was distressed from the lack of water. You only need to look at him and see how he's sweating to know there's a real risk of him becoming dehydrated. And that's a situation any experienced slave holder does his best to avoid. Once a slave is "down" from dehydration, no amount of coercion will get him back onto his feet. The overseer's whip could shred his back and he still wouldn't manage to stand."
Miles has chosen his words carefully so as not to offend my Master. His succinct reference to "any experienced slave holder" is meant to diplomatically remind Guy that he is a new master and of his inexperience in handling slaves and that he still has much to learn. By his answer, it's obvious my Master takes the point but tries to save face.
"Of course, you're quite right Miles and if I'd not been in conversation with Mr Schuster I would have picked up on that. Thank you for stepping in when you did."
"Think nothing of it Guy. As you say, you were talking at the time and you hadn't noticed your slave's problem. My father is very particular about ensuring our slaves don't become dehydrated. He insists our overseers make sure all our field slaves receive water at regular intervals throughout their working day to prevent them from succumbing to the heat. He'd see the loss of just one slave as an indictment on his slave husbandry."
"Your father's a wise man to take such precautions, Miles."
"Indeed he is, Guy. But I know it's much the same with your slaves out at La Foret. The previous owners had the same policy. But then all responsible slave holders do. After all we don't want our slaves suffering and dying unnecessarily."
Miles speaks the truth. My grandfather had always insisted our field slaves had ready access to fresh, clean water when they worked in the fields. I can't recall that we'd ever lost a slave to heat exhaustion or dehydration. I followed on with this practice but not out of consideration for the slaves. It is as Miles said - I did it because my slaves were a valuable resource.
Lionel Schuster has been left out of the conversation and he'd used this time to stifle his bad temper and is now much calmer. Still he seethes with indignation and suppressed anger. He looks at the slave and he now centres all his loathing for the four "upstarts" on the unfortunate Rafe. He'll make him pay a high price for the insults and rebuffs he's suffered from Guy Maratier and Miles. The thought of the slave on his knees before him and being made to take his cock into his mouth assuages his hurt feelings. It's a pleasant thought and already he feels the first stirrings in his loins. Silently he thinks - "let's get this finished with so that I can claim my reward." He asks.
"Are you ready to continue, Mr Maratier?"
"By all means, let's move on. I have to be gone from here very soon."
"Mr Maratier. You said you wanted your slave to run. Is that still the case?"
"Yes it is. Now can we begin?" My Master asks impatiently.
"The slave might need encouragement. Do I have your permission to use my cane?"
"Yes you do, Mr Schuster. But with moderation please. Use just enough force to keep him moving and no more."
"Very well then Mr Maratier." He acknowledges my Master's instruction. Now he turns to me
"You boy! Move your lazy ass. QUICKLY NOW!!"
I step forward unsteadily to resume my interrupted journey to the far end of the yard. As I look down to the other end, I wonder how I'll ever make the distance for it seems an interminably long way from my starting point to the finishing point.
The first few steps of my journey are difficult. I must first of all find my footing and at the same time I have to adjust my load so that its weight is evenly distributed across my shoulders. Slowly I take one step at a time by carefully putting one foot in front of the other and after some five or six steps I have struck the right balance. I move forward confident that I can make it to the far end of the course. Then I am instructed to
"RUN!"
I cry out in pain as I feel the fiery sting of the cane on ass. Desperate to avoid another cut of the cane, I thrust forward and try my best to run. I'm not sure if I'm actually running or staggering but I give of my best. My muscles strain, my chest heaves from my exertions, my heart pounds furiously within my breast and again I feel the bite of the cane as the order is given to.
"RUN! Damn you. RUN!"
My situation is intolerable. My breathing is ragged and uneven and my lungs feel they are at bursting point. I am sweating copiously and it is trickling down my body in ever flowing rivulets. The sweat enters my eyes and blinds me. It drips from the end of my nose and cock and stings the fresh cane marks on my back and ass. Ludicrously, I'm aware of my sweat soaked, low hanging balls swinging freely and slapping against my inner thighs as I run Then from somewhere behind me I hear my Master and the others laughing loudly. Are they laughing at me? Can they be that cruel?
Relentlessly I drive myself forward. Step by painful step I advance towards my finishing line and I tell myself I can make it. I don't do this as a personal challenge to my own abilities or because of some foolish pride. I do it because I'm afraid of what will happen should I fall short of my Master's expectation of me.
Then miraculously I am at the other end; I have reached my goal. The relief I feel as I lower the beam to the ground is indescribable. For a few brief moments, I enjoy the freedom of being unburdened by the beam's heavy weight. But it is all too brief. Now I am ordered to pick up the smallest rock from the heap and to hold it at arm's length above my head. Then on Lionel Schuster's instruction, I run with it to the starting point where my Master waits watching from the shade of the awning as he sips a cool, refreshing drink.
Once I place the rock at his feet, I will be made to pick up the second beam and repeat the process. As I run with the rock held high over my head - and I have to say I this is much easier than the beam - I wonder at what point my strength will give out and my endurance fail?
I can't say whether or not I've passed my strength and endurance tests with "flying colours". Certainly the dark expression on my Master's face indicates I've fallen short of his expectations. An angry scowl furrows his handsome features and it's an indication of his disapproval. This worries me; will he punish me for my poor effort? When we arrive home, will he send next door to borrow Pug to administer yet another caning to my already sorry ass. He'd mentioned this possibility just a short time ago and I know there is every chance of him following through with his threat. I never knew my Master as a cousin. I only know him as my Master and in the few days I've belonged to him I have become aware of his volatile nature and the unpredictability of his moods. In summary, my Master frightens me.
I'd given of my best in my tests but not because I wanted to or to prove myself capable of them. I had done so out of fear; fear of my Master's anger and fear of the cane and the whip. It's unbelievable that within the space of a few short days I have been reduced from a proud, haughty "aristocrat" to a snivelling, frightened slave. My confidence and self-assurance are gone and they have been replaced with temerity and subservience. My fear of the cane is all consuming. I will do anything to prevent a repeat of the two canings I have already received. I will humble and debase myself further if necessary to avoid any more punishment.
Therefore I tried with all my strength and all my will to pass these tests.
The enormity of my ordeal was lost on my audience but it provided them with an erotic diversion. They watched and salivated as I toiled. As I struggled with the weight of the beams or the rocks, my physique was highlighted and my musculature thrown into sharp relief much as one sees in the male, nude statues of the ancient Greek sculptors. But I wasn't an inanimate statue of cold, white marble. Quite the opposite, I was a living sculpture of bulging muscles and stretched sinews powered by the warm blood coursing through my veins. And my warm, brown flesh rippled and flexed beneath the glistening sheen of my copious sweating. My balls hung low in the summer heat and my cock was at maximum arousal and like some obscene signpost it pointed ahead to the finishing point.
As I ran my course under my heavy loads, I was too pre-occupied to notice my betters' sexual arousals. If I had, I would see my Master, my former friends and Lionel Schuster all sported erections that strained at the fronts of their trousers like impatient ponies trying to break free of their starting stalls. The two slave assistants however were more obvious; their ponies had broken free. Like me they were naked and their delighted cocks throbbed and bounced with unrestrained freedom.
In the final analysis of both my fitness and endurance, Lionel Schuster was correct in his earlier assessment of my capacity. He'd predicted I would manage the first three beams but I would fail on the fourth. And that's exactly as it worked out. The surprise to me that I'd managed to get that far into the test without failing.
The first beam had been difficult and the second even more so. The third had been impossible - or so I thought. I'd not bargained on the slave-dealer and his coercion. He'd used his cane on my unprotected body and I had responded under it cruel tutelage I discovered reserves of strength and a perseverance unknown to me. I'd staggered to my feet with the beam on my shoulders, swayed under its appalling weight until I found my footing and finally managed to stagger and run to the opposite end of the yard. This run will stay with me until the end of my days. Several times, I felt my knees buckle and I was sure I was at the point of collapse. But Lionel Schuster and his cane convinced me I could make the finishing line and I continued on. Once there however, my legs did give way under me and I dropped to the cobblestones with the weight of the beam lying across my back. But there was no respite. Ordered to my feet and made to pick up a rock, I then ran the return trip to the starting point. As I placed this rock with the previous two, I saw my Master look of disappointment in me.
I had to admit defeat with the fourth beam. I capitulated almost immediately as I tried to ease its weight onto my left shoulder. My efforts were in vain and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't lift it up onto my shoulder. Even the dealer's cane proved ineffectual and after several attempts to encourage me He gave up in disgust. As I staggered to my feet and assumed the mandatory display position he gave his verdict on me
"It's as I thought, Mr Maratier." He tells my Master. "Your slave lacks stamina."
"I have to say I'm disappointed with his performance, Mr Schuster. I really did expect more of him". My Master answers darkly. "But I'll soon correct that. He'll be sent out to 'La Forˆt" at the first opportunity. And I'll instruct my overseers to work him long and hard."
"That's an excellent plan, Mr Maratier. Well that's it! I've finished his appraisal. Would you like to hear my verdict and valuation?"
"Indeed I would, Mr Schuster. That's why I'm here."
Both men walk away out of earshot of Miles, Jack and Daniel and are soon engaged in an earnest conversation. Their voices are lowered and I try unsuccessfully to judge the content of their discussions by their body language. But I'm destined not to know how much I am worth to my Master. Indeed that isn't my concern. Like all slaves I'll have to wait until I stand on the auction block and listen for the amount as I am "knocked down" to a new master.
Their conversation is at an end and they re-join the others under the awning, where out of courtesy, my Master offers his hand to Lionel Schuster and politely thanks him for his trouble.
"It was my pleasure, Mr Maratier." The slave-dealer has regained his composure and his manner is ingratiating. "Please remember if at any time you change your mind and you do decide to sell your slave then I'll happily act on your behalf. I'll do everything to ensure he is properly promoted and marketed. He is a most desirable property and I'm sure the buyers will be lining up to bid for him. And now, with your permission, it's time for me to claim my prize. You hadn't forgotten had you, Mr Maratier?"
"No I hadn't." My Master looks impatiently at his watch. "I really do need to be on my way to my next engagement. Anyway, I've changed my mind. My slave's no longer available to you."
The dealer is dumbstruck by my Master's sudden withdrawal of my services. All morning, he'd looked forward to this moment when he would order me to my knees and instruct me to take his cock into my mouth. Once more I see the blood rise up his neck and flush his face in barely concealed anger.
But I am relieved. My morning was dominated by the thought of me being used so foully by this repulsive creature. All morning this had hung over me like an ominous pall and now my Master has lifted its oppressiveness from me. I am overcome with relief that I am to be spared this obscenity and my gratitude to my Master is boundless. I almost forget myself and I'm about to thank him when I recall such displays from a slave are unwelcome. No matter what my feelings I must contain them and remain mute.
"But what about our arrangements?" The dealer splutters angrily. "You promised and a promise made should be a promise kept. I won the guessing contest and I'm now entitled to claim............."
"You're entitled to nothing, Mr Schuster" My Master cuts into Lionel's protest. "I've decided my slave is too valuable to allow him to be cheapened by you. I've changed my mind and that's an end to the matter."
"But you can't do this. I acted in good faith and surely ..............."
Again my Master doesn't allow him to finish.
"Mr Schuster! I doubt very much that you acted in good faith. I suggest you acted out of self-interest and spite - the spite you feel towards the former Lucien Barrois. Your hatred for my slave is obvious and I think you had more than your fair share of "fun" with him this morning. All morning, I've watched as you humiliated him - and I don't have a problem with that - but you wasted time in doing so. Several times, I asked you to hurry things along and you chose to take your time. Well my time has now run out and I need to be on my way immediately. And I have to say I'm most unhappy with the way you physically abused my slave. Your use of the cane on him was excessive at times."
"But you owe me....."
"I owe you nothing, Mr Schuster! End of conversation. Do you understand?"
My Master turns his back on the slave-dealer -who is left speechless by this unexpected "betrayal" - and takes his leave of my former friends. Then, in an all too obvious slight to Lionel Schuster he reminds them.
Remember you have an invitation to attend my little gathering. I expect to see all three of you there. And I'm sure Rafe is also looking forward to you being there and attending to your 'needs". That's right, isn't it Rafe? You're looking forward to your friends visit aren't you?"
"Yes Master."
"Yes what, Rafe?"
I need to choose my answer carefully. I consider how my Master wants me to reply and I hope my answer is satisfactory.
"Yes Master. I'm looking forward to your guests attending and I'll happily attend to their needs, Master,"
"Good boy, Rafe! Now we should be on our way. Let's get you hitched to my cart alongside of Norge and my new slave, Pollux. I still have much to do. "
I wait on my Master as he says farewell to my three former friends. All four men are in good humour and Miles, Jack and Daniel are effusive in thanking him for letting them "sit in" on my appraisal. They tell him how instructive it has been to watch Lionel Schuster evaluate me and how they have found the experience most helpful. They have learned what to look for in choosing a slave and now they are eager to return to their search for a suitable birthday present for Daniel. Finally, they shake his hand and wish my Master well in his "new life" as the heir to the former Barrois fortune.
To my ears their wishes are sincere and well-meant and my Master responds positively to them. I am watching the establishment of new friendships between the three younger men and my Master. I choke back tears as I recall the friendships I had once enjoyed with them; friendships that are no more.
They ignore me and turn to walk away. As they do so, I realise they are lost to me forever. They will continue to live the fortunate lives they were born to while I must live the wretched one that fate has decreed for me.
Next time we meet, I will greet them as my Master's slave and kneel to fulfil the promise he made to them.
"Come on, Rafe! Snap out of it. Stop daydreaming, boy. It's time to go."
My Master's impatient words jerk me out of my reflective mood.
"Yes Master."
"Well come on then!"
His words puzzle me. What does he mean by them?
"What Master?" I ask. "What am I to do?"
"You stupid slave! Think! What task did I assign you when we arrived?"
Momentarily, I'm nonplussed then I remember - the umbrella to shade him from the Sun's rays.
"Do you mean the umbrella, Master?"
"YES! Are all slaves as dense as you, Rafe? You need to keep your wits about you. I shouldn't have to remind you of your duties, should I, boy?"
No Master! I'm sorry Master!"
"You're very close to having your ass caned, Rafe. You're very close indeed!"
I have no other option but to blurt out my apology and my fear of the cane prompts me to beg.
"I'm so sorry, Master! Please forgive me. Please don't cane me anymore Master, My ass is still sore from the last caning."
"Well, let me think on it. It will depend on how you conduct yourself for the rest of the day. Now let's be on our way."
Chastened by the threat of the cane, I move quickly to make amends. I retrieve the umbrella, open it up and move into position to shade him as he makes his way back to his pony cart.
My Master is either learning the lessons of how to degrade a slave very quickly or he is naturally gifted in the art of humiliation. Either way he grabs hold of my still hard cock and uses it to guide me out to where Norge stands waiting patiently.
As we walk across the yard, I am glad to be finally leaving this place. I think of Cato now locked in a holding pen and waiting to be sold. The thought that I could have joined him in the pen causes me to shudder. How grateful I am that I'm not to share Cato's fate. But my relief at my Masters decision not to have me service Lionel Schuster's cock is greater.
I throw caution to the wind and attempt to show my gratitude for this.
"Thank you, Master.
"What for, Rafe? Why are you thanking me?"
"For sparing me, Master. I didn't want to suck the dealer's cock."
Angrily, my Master reaches out and delivers a stinging slap to my face.
"You presume too much, slave! I didn't spare you out of any consideration for your feelings. I did it because it's what I wanted. Remember, you do as you're told. ALWAYS! I'll decide what cocks you'll suck. Not you! What you want or don't want isn't important. You'll do as you're told. Do you understand?"
"Yes Master! I'm sorry I have offended you Master. Please forgive me, Master?" I answer forlornly through my tears.
Then, not unkindly, he adds.
"Besides Rafe, you're too valuable a slave to waste on the likes of Lionel Schuster. I don't want him soiling you with filthy cock."
To be continued.....