Changed Circumstances

CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES A Sequel to a "Reversal of Fortune" Chapter 38: "A Most Welcome Decision"

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 38: "A Most Welcome Decision"

Master's stimulation of my prostate continues to excite me; my cock bucks and bounces with each thrust of his finger. And this isn't lost on Master. Once more he smiles at me and asks me.

"You like that Rafe?"

And truthfully, I answer.

"Oh! Yes Master!"

My emotions are in turmoil. Very publicly, Master is pleasuring me in front of his head overseer and my personal trainer, Sir Conn. A few short months ago, I would have been shamed by this but now I have no shame. I am a slave and I have lost all my former inhibitions. Eagerly, I give myself over to the moment and take my pleasure from my Master's attention. For the past six months, I have been denied sexual release and my only sexual activities were the daily dalliances I'd enjoyed with Sir Conn in some secluded spot hidden away from the prying eyes of both slaves and overseers.

Master has just whispered in my ear that he will fuck me just as soon as he returns to the city with me. My return to the city will be a most welcome decision for two reasons.

Firstly, it means I will be permanently re-united with my beloved Norge. How I have missed him for these past six months. It's true, I have seen him whenever Master visited La Foret but we only observed each other from a distance. We never spoke and we never touched. I hunger for his warmth, his smell and the feel of his hard body pressed up against my own eager one. I miss the sensation and the taste of his cock in my hungry mouth but most of all I long to feel him moving inside of me.

Sometimes, as I knelt in front of Sir Conn, I fantasised it was Norge's cock in my mouth and I worked enthusiastically to give him the maximum pleasure. Of course, Sir Conn was the unwitting beneficiary of my over active imagination.

Secondly, Master has declared his intention to take me into his bed and claim what is legally his. He is to exercise his "jus primae noctis" rights over me. Enshrined in the slave laws that govern us is the "law of the first night" which gives an owner the unchallenged right to be the first to use a new slave sexually.

Of course, some masters never avail themselves of this right. However, other slave-owners see it as a right and a duty and, as a master; I had enthusiastically shared this view. But I'd never delayed as long as Master has with me. My usual practice was to "initiate" a slave on the first night of my ownership of him.

By fucking a new slave, I put my stamp on him. No doubt it shamed him to be used so casually by his new master but the lesson was a powerful one. It showed the slave that he was now owned property; a mere chattel to be used by his owner as he wished. I'd always considered it kinder to the slave to make him aware of his new status from the outset. To delay could confuse the slave.

I have been a slave for nearly seven months now and Master has delayed asserting his 'first night' rights over me. At first this had puzzled me and I wondered why he hesitated. At the time I was enslaved, I was what the slave dealers would suggestively describe as a "highly desirable property well suited to provide pleasure to the most discerning master".

And I know this description of me to be accurate. When I say this I am not boasting and there are no notions of being bigheaded on my part.

I was an attractive, highly desirable new slave and surely one that a new master would want to take to his bed at the first opportunity.

As a Master, I had prided myself on my ability to appraise a slave. I was after all a connoisseur of prime, young, male slaves and I was a frequent visitor to the slave-pens. I'd always been attracted to the newly enslaved. They possessed a vulnerability that had appealed to me. As I viewed them through the bars of the holding pens, I noted their bewilderment at their changed circumstances and their dread of their uncertain futures. They were caught up in the maelstrom of their emotions and their fear of the unknown. And I was attracted to that.

At the time of my own enslavement, I shared these emotions and I suppose I too must have exhibited my vulnerability. But my Master didn't exploit my vulnerability. Instead, he chose to ignore it. He left me untouched.

Master had placed my ass out of bounds and had ordered that I be quarantined from the predations of my fellow slaves. And at first, in my frustration, I had wondered why he did this. Then I realised that my Master had adopted a very different approach to my own. He had his own unique way of asserting his complete ownership of me.

Usually, I had established my right of ownership over a new slave by using him on the first night but my Master chose to treat me differently. His approach was the opposite of mine but it was far more effective. Succinctly, by delaying his taking of my cherry, he was telling me that every aspect of my being now belonged to him - even my sexuality. By placing me in quarantine, he impressed upon me that I no longer controlled that aspect of my life. It was a potent demonstration that sexual release or pleasure for a slave is a gift to be bestowed or withheld at the whim of his Master.

During my time at La Foret, I have learned that as a slave, I am totally dependent on my Master for everything. Firstly, my life and my body are his; I belong to him. Through his overseers, he decrees when I can sleep and when I must wake; and when I am to work or when I can rest. I am dependent on him for the food I eat and the water I drink. Everything I have is the gift of my Master - even my sexuality - and I must be forever grateful to him.

It was a hard lesson to learn but I have done so!

Now, my Master has whispered in my ear that when I'm returned to the city he will fuck me. Emotionally and physically I am ready for this and indeed I look forward to submitting to him. Perhaps when Master has subjected me to the "law of the first night", he'll allow me to lie alongside my beloved Norge and open up my body to him. I sincerely hope so - with every fibre of my being.

Master's finger continues to excite me, but in my imagination, it is Norge's cock moving inside of me and raising me to levels of feverish expectations.

Master appears pleased with my response to his digital stimulation and, withdrawing his finger from my ass, he uses it to tap my jaw as he instructs me to...

"Open wide, Rafe! Clean my finger."

I have long since lost my squeamishness. After all, I have learned to take another man's cock into my mouth and to suckle it. So Master's finger isn't all that different. Yet it is repulsive to take the finger, that just moments ago was buried deep within my anus, into in my mouth and to suck it clean. And it is also demeaning.

But I have no alternative other than to obey and I suck vigorously on Master's finger until he is satisfied. And I must have pleased him. He removes his finger from my mouth and once again, he tells me that I am a......

"Good boy!"

My Master continues his examination of me. He cradles my cock in his hands and fondly strokes it to maintain my erection. Suddenly, almost as though he spies something amiss, Master leans forward to examine it more closely. His finger moves around the circumference of the shaft tracing out the almost invisible mark of my circumcision. As he peers intently at it, my heart misses a beat. Has Master found some fault - a physical defect - that will detract from my overall appearance and lessen my value to him? But I am worrying needlessly and his comment to Claymore Jackson puts my mind at ease.

"Claymore, I have to say the bloodless circumcision seems to work well. Why, I can hardly see where Rafe's foreskin was attached to his cock."

"Guy, I'm all for it! It's far preferable than the scalpel. Cutting with the knife is messy and traumatic for the slave. It leaves him bleeding and sore for days and puts him out of action. You lose his work output as he recovers and there's always the risk of infection. The former owners preferred to use the knife and I argued against it - unsuccessfully I'm afraid."

"Why was that?"

"Tradition, I'm afraid, Guy. Old Monsieur Barrois was very traditional in his outlook. He preferred to do things as they'd always been done. And I'm afraid there wasn't time for his heir to change much before he became a slave. But I bet Rafe is glad you dispensed with tradition and opted for a more humane method of skinning him. Isn't that so boy?"

Indeed I was very glad that Master had chosen to skin me non-surgically. True, there was some pain as the veterinarian fitted the rings trapping the foreskin between them and cutting off its blood supply. And there was discomfort and irritation as the flesh slowly atrophied before dropping off some nine days later. But this was preferable - at least to my mind - to the sharp agony of the scalpel. And as I answer the chief overseer's question, I am indeed glad that Master allowed the vet to "humanely" skin me.

"Yes Sir!"

""Then show your gratitude to you Master, Rafe. Thank him for his kindness to you."

"Thank you Master!"

My gratitude to my Master is heartfelt but Claymore isn't satisfied and he admonishes me.

"Come on slave! You can do better than that. Drop to your knees and thank you Master properly, boy."

I obey instantly. I fall to my hands and knees and crawl to my Master to express my gratitude to him by kissing his feet.

"Thank you, Master! Thank you for your goodness to me."

I remain crouching at his feet until he gives me permission to stand.

Master has finished his examination of my body and he orders me to stand at display before him. He maintains his silence and as his eyes scrutinise me, I wonder what he is thinking. Have I been weighed in the balance and found wanting. My mind is a whirlpool of self-doubt. Have I failed the test and will he decide to leave me at La Forˆt for a longer period of training. My body visibly quakes at the thought of this.

As a slave, I have long ceased to believe in a higher being. For slaves there is no benevolent god who watches over them. We are abandoned to the living hell of our servitude and our only redemption is a merciful death. And yet I find myself praying - silently and earnestly - that Master will take me back to the city with him.

Then, to my immense relief and overwhelming joy, he tells Claymore.

"Claymore, I'm returning to the city tomorrow morning and I'll take Rafe back with me. He can run alongside Norge on the return trip. Would you see he is made ready for me please?"

"Certainly, Guy! The slave's as ready as he'll ever be. I know you were having a new, two pony conveyance made. Is it ready?"

"It's ready and waiting, Claymore. I took delivery of it about a month ago for when Rafe had finished his training. And I have had several sets of matching harness especially made for Norge and Rafe. Hopefully, they'll be in harness and pulling my new trap the day after tomorrow."

"They should cut a fine sight, Guy. I wish I was there to see them."

"Oh, don't worry Claymore! You'll get to see them whenever I visit La Forˆt."

"Good! I look forward to seeing them running together."

I am overjoyed and my wide smile conveys my happiness to Norge who is standing quietly to one side alongside Jake. If it's possible, his smile is broader than mine and shows his happiness at our Master's decision to take me back to the city. But I see the sadness in Jake's face as he hears Norge will be leaving in the morning. Still, they will have tonight together and it would be selfish of me to deny them this last opportunity to make love. The future is unknown to all three of us. When next we return to La Forˆt, will Norge and I be stabled together or will we be housed in separate stalls. That decision won't be ours to make. It will depend on Claymore Jackson's mood of the moment.

Norge isn't the only one to notice my happiness. Master notices it too.

"Claymore, I have to compliment you on Rafe's transformation. It is astonishing. He surpasses all my expectations."

"Thank you Guy! But I can't take all the credit for him. Most of that is due to young Conn here. He has worked assiduously with Rafe for the whole six months he's been with us. The slave you see before you was shaped by Conn. I think the credit should go to him."

"Then, thank you Conn. Rafe is a credit to you. But tell me; was he hard to train?"

"No Sir! Really he was easy. He was a bit surly for a start but I soon whipped him into shape. Right from the outset, I let him know who was in charge. And a few strokes of my whip helped him understand his place. I've got to say he is now a very docile, hardworking slave. In a way, I'm sorry to see him go. He is a good-natured boy and does as he's told. I've grown quite fond of him. I'm going to miss dumbass."

"Dumbass?"

"Sorry Sir! That was my pet name for him. I never called him Rafe. I called him dumbass the first day he arrived here and I was driving him and the other slave over to the forge for branding. It kinda stuck. Sorry Sir!"

"Don't apologise, Conn," my Master chuckles. "I like it ... dumbass indeed. I'll have to remember it. But tell me Conn; was he really stupid enough to warrant you calling him dumbass?"

"No Sir! Rafe was no more stupid than any other of your white slaves. Proper control and the whip helped him to learn. And to his credit, the boy was a good student. He learned what was required of him easily and quickly. "

Once I would've been embarrassed at this exchange between Master and Sir Conn. Now I am indifferent to their sarcasm.

"Claymore! I'm very impressed with the great job that young Conn has done with my slave. I would like to discuss Conn's future with you. I'm recommending he be promoted and given a pay rise commensurate with his promotion. Conn shows great enthusiasm and initiative. He is a young man with a bright future. I'd like to see him work as your right-hand man. I've had it in my mind to have some one assist you in duties which I know are quite onerous. I think Conn is the man for the job. Would you agree? How do you feel about that?"

"Guy! What can I say? I would welcome some assistance - and thank you for your consideration. And I can think of no one I'd rather work with than Conn. As you so rightly said, he shows enthusiasm and initiative. I would add to that a dedication to his work. I know of no other overseer who works as hard as he does to get the best out of your slaves. His control of them is absolute. All the slaves fear him and work hard to impress him."

"Good, then it's settled. Conn will be promoted to your assistant and paid a salary to reflect his new status. And Conn - there'll be a sizeable bonus for you to express my thanks for the great work you have done with Rafe."

Sir Conn is taken by surprise. He'd not expected such fulsome praise from Master and Claymore. Nor had he expected his sudden promotion, the salary increase or the bonus for his supervision of me. His elevation over the heads of so many older supervisors is testimony to his considerable talents. I am ideally placed to appreciate these talents. After all, I have been instrumental in shaping the young supervisor. He'd had me to practise on.

There is some irony in all this for me. As Sir Conn's confidence grew by the day, mine had diminished correspondingly. Ours was a complementary relationship. We depended on one another and we each had something to give the other. For my part, I gave him the confidence and experience to become a competent slave overseer. And he had trained me to be the slave that I have become and gave me an understanding of what I really am.

Lucien Barrois had chosen well the day he'd agreed to employ Conn, the young, inexperienced apprentice overseer. And he could never have foreseen the consequences of that fateful decision.

Sir Conn's comments to my Master that he had grown fond of me and that he would miss me are unexpected. But I am strangely moved by them. Ours had been a one-on-one relationship and yet it has been an uneven one. After all, he has been my de facto master for these past six months and I have been his slave. And to his credit, Sir Conn had always kept me aware of the gulf that existed between us. I was never allowed to forget that I was the slave and he was the master. And if I ever did forget my proper place, Sir Conn was always quick to remind me of my true status. His whip, applied with youthful vigour, was quick to correct any errant behaviour on my part.

And there were moments of something akin to affection between us. Those stolen moments when, in some secluded spot, I pleasured Sir Conn, did connect us. Once I'd overcome my initial reluctance to take his cock in my mouth, I enjoyed our clandestine encounters. Eventually, they were to become mutually enjoyable and in all honesty, I gave myself over completely to pleasuring my young handler.

But perhaps the moments I valued most were those when, kneeling at his feet, he would soothingly stroke my body or pat my head and declare his satisfaction with me by telling me that I was a "good boy".

Were Sir Conn's actions patronising? For a free man the answer is yes. But for a slave, stripped of his humanity and bereft of human kindness, Sir Conn's touch and his words were balm to my troubled soul.

At this moment, as we separate to begin new chapters of our lives, I realise that I too have a fondness for Sir Conn. And I rejoice in my Master's recognition of him and within me, I wish him a silent farewell.

My Master's decision to take me back to the city lifts my spirits. Finally, I am to bid farewell to La Foret and all its horrors. It is ironic, that the place I'd once loved with such passion had become a place of suffering for me.

Over the many years since its establishment, the plantation has grown and matured into a place of great beauty and the casual observer would also see it as a peaceful haven for its owners. And as Lucien Barrois I had always seen it as such.

But La Foret's beauty obscures its true ugliness and its air of peace hides the unspeakable horrors of slavery. The calm of the mansion house and its gardens mask the groans of the slaves toiling in the distant fields and the melodic sounds of birdsong in the treetops drown out the sounds of the overseers' whips.

And as the slave, Rafe I was exposed to the unimaginable pain and suffering of La Foret's slave population. How glad I am to be leaving all this behind me.

Six months ago, I began work as a slave on the wheel which supplies water to the gardens and fountains of the mansion's extensive grounds.

This water-wheel has been in existence ever since my de Barrois ancestor first put down roots, built the original part of the house and established its surrounding gardens. Today's water-wheel isn't the original one. That has long disappeared and has been replaced several times over the intervening years until this latest one which has been in existence for nearly half a century.

This latest wheel was built by my grandfather long before my birth. My grandfather had been a lifelong environmentalist and he deplored the use of machinery when slaves could perform the tasks just as easily, cheaper and with less impact on the environment.

He was also fascinated with older forms of technology and often used the ideas behind them - modified to suit his requirements - rather than buy costly, fuel guzzling and polluting machines. That is why, even under my management, slaves replaced tractors to pull the ploughs, harrow the fields and sow the crops at La Foret.

Grandfather had used teams of draft slaves to haul the wagons and pull his trap rather than use horses. He always had a great fondness for horses and he kept a stable of thoroughbreds on which he lavished his care and attention. They were his pets and their sole purpose was to serve as living ornaments for his pleasure. He saw them as beautiful creatures whose nobility precluded them from any forms of work that could be performed by a slave.

As Lucien Barrois, I have seen my Grandfather's original plans for his new water- wheel and I recall how as a young boy he took me to see it in operation for the first time. As we watched some wretched, unnamed slave turn the wheel, Grandfather had told me of the water-wheel's history.

He told me its origins were lost in the mists of a far distant past that had belonged to the ancient Greeks. Grandfather attributed its invention to the civilisation that had given us so much. I'm not sure if everything he told me that day stayed with me. I vaguely remember him using words like democracy, science, medicine, mathematics, poetry, drama, theatre, rational thought and legitimised slavery. But these were all concepts way beyond my boyish comprehension.

And anyway, my attention was focused on the naked slave as he strained and sweated to keep the massive wheel turning at the required speed. Before that day, I had seen our slaves labouring in the distance but this was the first occasion I came close to a slave as he toiled and I was fascinated by the spectacle of a naked, young man working as a beast of burden. I noted the stress the wheel placed on his body and the stretching of his muscles and sinews to almost breaking point. I listened to his laboured breathing and I watched as he was tormented by swarms of flying insects attracted to his body by his smell and his sweat. I watched the twitching and the shaking of his body as vainly, he tried to dislodge them and find some relief from their annoying bites and stings. And I flinched as the overseer's whip cut across his striped back with the order to "settle down".

That day, I became aware of the magnificence of the naked, male body in all its stressed beauty. I was enthralled by the perfection of its form and this enchantment has remained with me ever since.

Although distracted by the slave, I paid some attention to what Grandfather had to say about his wheel. He told me how it had been invented by the ancient Greeks and how it had been enthusiastically adopted and improved by the Romans who had carried to all the arid parts of their vast empire. He mentioned how even today its variations can be found in Spain, parts of Mexico and the Middle East.

He told me that he'd looked at the different forms of water-wheels in use and how he'd researched their suitability for use on the irrigation channels at La Foret. Finally, he'd opted for the Middle Eastern water-wheel known as the noria wheel.

In its purest form, the noria is a single, vertical wheel with buckets or earthenware vessels fastened to its outer circumference for lifting water from a river or stream and delivering it into an aqueduct or water channel. In the Middle-East, the noria is a stand-alone wheel usually installed in a fast flowing river the current of which provides the motive power to keep the wheel turning.

But as was his habit, Grandfather adapted the noria to suit his special needs. He fitted a second horizontal wheel in the form of a capstan that engaged with the noria's axle through a series of cogs causing it to turn and lift the water from the irrigation channel and into the aqueduct that fed the reservoir. And the motive power for the capstan would be supplied by slaves.

He told me he incorporated the capstan because it gave him greater control over the lifting of the water into the reservoir. He felt using a slave to control the speed of the wheel was more efficient than relying on the uncertainty of variable water flows. A slave's speed can be adjusted to meet the current requirements and regulated with a whip.

So successful was this first wheel that it became the prototype for all other water-wheels used on La Foret. And it remains so today. Progressively, Grandfather replaced all the existing, obsolete wheels with the new noria type and he even installed additional, new ones to keep the precious life-giving water flowing constantly through the intricate pattern of irrigation canals and channels.

If my memory is correct, I think there are some thirty plus wheels in operation throughout the plantation. The larger wheel s have circumferences that require twenty slaves to keep them turning. These are the master wheels that lift the water from the broad river flowing along La Foret's northern boundary and deposit it into the canals. These wheels never stop; they operate twenty- four hours a day for all 365 days of the year.

These are "punishment" wheels; the slaves who man them are the plantation's troublemakers, the intransigent and the disobedient. Those slaves condemned to the wheel live in situ - in strong metal cages- and they work in shifts of six hours labour and six hours rest. Once a slave is assigned to a place on the wheel, there is no redemption for him. He works until the overseers' whip can no longer coax any further labour out of him. Once the last vestige of strength has been wrung from him, the slave is discarded and humanely disposed of. Life on these massive wheels is short and brutal and quite rightly they are greatly feared by La Foret's slaves.

The other wheels are smaller in circumference and strategically placed along the canals to keep the water flowing. They vary in size; the smallest require only one slave to operate them the others are manned by two, three or four slaves depending on their water lifting capacity.

The one I was condemned to labour on is the original prototype - the one adopted and modified by my Grandfather - and it requires the muscle-power of only one slave.

That first morning, six long months ago, I was chained to the capstan and it was a combination of my muscle power and Sir Conn's whip that kept the wheel turning and the water flowing.

To be continued..............