Changed Circumstances

CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune"

Chapter 48

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

Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) "An archive of my stories can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories

The characters and ideas contained in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be used without permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't rewrite."

Chapter 48: "Back to the City"

Guy

Rafe is magnificent!

I look down with lustful anticipation as he crouches before me. He has just paid homage to me by kneeling and kissing my feet. I am savouring the moment and I haven't yet given him the command to break position and stand at display. I am enraptured by the sight of his head pressed to the floor and his ass pointing to the ceiling. And it is an ass that I am about to claim as mine.

For I am about to exercise my owner's right of "jus primae noctis" or as my French ancestors would prefer it - "droit de jambage".

Either way it means the same thing. I am about to fuck Rafe!

I have waited six months - or for as long as Rafe has been my slave - to extract my revenge on my Barrois relatives who caste out my beloved grandmother from the family and disowned her and her descendants.

My grandmother raised me to hate her Barrois family. From my earliest recollections, she instilled into me a need for revenge against them. And I had been a willing student. For growing up in poverty, it was very easy for me to hate them. While my grandmother and my parents lived a precarious hand to mouth existence, the enormous wealth and prestige of the Barrois had always taunted us with its unfairness and its excessiveness.

How many times have I heard my grandmother curse her parents and her brother, Jean- Claude for their unfairness in denying her son - my father - and me our birth right? Those occasions are too numerous to recall.

And when my great-uncle Jean-Claude died, he'd done nothing to make amends to his sister, Charlotte. He'd done nothing to redress the wrongs committed against her by her parents and from beyond the grave he'd continued with his family's rejection of my grandmother and condemned her to ongoing poverty. After her estranged brother's death, the focus of all her pent-up fury was on the sole surviving heir, Lucien Barrois and she'd worked to bring him undone. And she'd been spectacularly successful.

It was she who unearthed the secret details of Lucien Barrois's shameful birth. But, there are times when I wonder about the veracity of her claims that Lucien is the progeny of a slave woman. Always at the back of my mind is the niggling doubt that she'd manufactured the evidence.

Not that this would make any difference to my position. Over the past six months, I have become accustomed to being Guy Maratier, the inheritor of the vast Barrois business enterprises and La Forõ€'˜ plantation. That Lucien had been displaced by me and returned to slavery worked to my advantage. That Lucien was now the slave, Rafe - my slave - doesn't unduly concern me.

However, I was and remain curious about the truth or otherwise of my grandmother's claims. It had been my intention to wait for the proper moment to ask her outright for the truth. For me there'd have been a delicious irony in learning Rafe had been wronged and falsely deprived of his birth right and freedom.

Now of course, the question is academic. My grandmother has been paralysed by her untimely stroke and she can neither speak nor write. Recently, I put the question about the legitimacy of Rafe's enslavement to her and asked her to confirm if my suspicions are correct with some sign like the blink of an eye or a twitch of the finger. She sat impassively and didn't respond to my question. Whether this was because she is incapable of any response or she deliberately chose not to tell me the truth I can't say. What is certain however is that she will carry that secret to her grave?

And I'll never know if Rafe was falsely enslaved.

Initially, it had been my intention to extract my revenge on Rafe by breaking his spirit and reducing him to the lowest level of slavery; first as a common field-hand and draft slave at La Foret and then to further humiliate him by running him naked as one of my personal ponies. Like Shylock, I wanted my pound of flesh from Lucien Barrois.

But my vengeance wasn't to end there. Not by a long shot! I'd decided I would keep Rafe for say two years and then inflict the ultimate indignity on him; I would publicly display him and sell him at auction in the slave-market.

In my mind's eye, I visualised Rafe's pre-sale inspections and saw him standing alone and forlorn on the auction block as the buyers battled one another for the right to own him. That was to be the Maratier's ultimate revenge. And if it is true that Rafe had been wrongfully disinherited and enslaved, then I would tell him so as he stepped up on to the podium. I'd relished the thought of Lucien knowing that he'd been unjustly enslaved. The thought that this miscarriage of justice would haunt him for the remainder of his days consumed me with its delicious irony. Because of my grandmother's shaping of my character, I hated Lucien Barrois that much. And in telling Rafe that he'd been cruelly wronged would make the Maratier's vengeance that much sweeter!

But until I sold Rafe, I'd resolved to make his life as hard as I possibly could. I took every opportunity to humiliate him both privately and publicly. I recall his shame when he first came into contact with three of his boyhood friends at Lionel Schuster's slave-market and how I'd invited them to watch as the slave-dealer evaluated him. And of course, I'd shamed him later when I invited them to my home and ordered Rafe to kneel before them and to service their cocks with his mouth.

I punished Rafe on the slightest pretext. I'd had his ass caned on numerous occasions sometimes by my former house steward, Cato and at other times I borrowed my neighbour, Major Swanston's brutal slave Pug to administer the cane.

It had both amused and gratified me to watch as the formerly proud, young aristocrat Lucien became the naked, tamed slave, Rafe. And my satisfaction increased as I followed his steady descent into slavery at La Foret. I'd openly gloated as he toiled on the water-wheel or strained under the yoke in a team of heavy duty draft slaves. And I'd regularly subjected him to the public shaming of my very explicit hands-on inspections as he trained to become my pony slave.

Over the six months I watched as Rafe went through several transformations. Obviously the most traumatic of these was his loss of freedom and enslavement. I can only imagination at the emotional effect these had upon my hated, distant cousin. True, I had witnessed his look of utter disbelief in the courtroom as Judge Matthews pronounced him to be slave-born. I'd been present in the court's forge as he was branded and collared and I revelled in his very public shaming as I ran him naked through the city for the first time.

And beginning tomorrow, Rafe nakedness will become a common sight on the city's streets and boulevards as he runs alongside my other pony, Norge.

I recall the frightened, bewildered new slave I'd taken out to La Foret six months ago and I'd made it my business to torment and humiliate him at every opportunity. Tonight, Rafe kneels at my feet and awaits my pleasure and I see a very different Rafe. Rafe's demeanour is now that of a true slave.

Six months ago I'd envied Lucien Barrois for his good fortune and despised him for his easy self-assurance.

However, as I now look down on the naked slave crouching at my feet, my emotions are mixed. The hatred that I'd felt for the free man, Lucien has largely dissipated and has been replaced with ambivalence in my attitude towards the slave, Rafe. What has happened? What has brought about this change of attitude on my part?

Six months later, Rafe the slave has an air of wounded vulnerability that plays on my emotions. As I look into his eyes, I see the sorrow for all he has lost and the pain of all he has suffered at my hands and those of my grandmother. If I am honest, the uncertainty of whether or not Rafe's return to slavery was legitimate does weigh on my conscience. But not to the extent that I want to see him set free and restored to his rightful inheritance. I am far too greedy for that. I enjoy being Guy Maratier, Esquire far too much to want to give that back to Lucien Barrois.

No, the dye was caste the day the judge found in my favour and for me there can be no going back. Today's status quo will be maintained. I will remain Rafe's Master and he will remain my slave.

Yet, as I gaze upon him, I do feel a tenderness towards him that wasn't there six months ago and which had only recently manifested itself.

I recall how during a visit to La Foret, I'd ordered Rafe to stand at display so that I could inspect him. I was impressed with his instant compliance with my command and I had complimented his overseer, Conn on his training of Rafe.

And as I subjected Rafe to close scrutiny and a hands-on inspection, I was suddenly struck by his close resemblance to me. This thought had never occurred to me before and it came as a shock to suddenly think that we shared a common bloodline - albeit that his could be tainted by the blood of the slave woman, Ophelia.

Suddenly, the thought that we are related hit home. This slave is my distant cousin. And I was overwhelmed with a deep sense of regret for what might have been and what we'd both missed out on.

As an only child, I'd led a lonely existence made even worse by my family's poverty. And I'd always regretted that I never had siblings to share in my life.

I know that Lucien Barrois was an only child, who'd been orphaned at an early age and raised by his doting grandparents. I wonder if he too had felt loneliness as a child. I have seen the loneliness in Rafe's eyes but I had assumed this to be the result of the isolation of his slavery. Now I wonder if there is more to his sense of sadness. Perhaps like me, did he suffer a lonely childhood? How different things could have been for both of us.

Rafe, like me, is a victim of circumstance and we have come to this moment, not through any actions of our own. Rather we were simply pawns in the bitter game played between his grandfather and my grandmother. We were swept up in the tumult of their feuding and kept apart.

Now, as I look down at Rafe, I regret we'd never met before that fateful day in the courtroom. Rafe is my junior, and all things being equal, I would have enjoyed having him as a 'younger brother'.

Instead the fates have conspired to make us Master and slave.

Tonight, Rafe is on his knees before me in my bedchamber. He is truly delightful and the stripes of my driver's whip on his upturned ass and shoulders make him even more alluring.

These are the same stripes that I had lovingly laid upon his body on the way home earlier today.

The Journey Home

I am to leave La Foret early this morning for the return journey to the city. True to his word, Claymore has harnessed Norge and Rafe to a two pony trap for my return trip to the city. As it is early morning, I decide to eat a leisurely breakfast on the porch before my departure. From where I sit I can see both my ponies tethered to a hitching rail and waiting patiently for me.

I watch as Colton supervises two of the house slaves loading my luggage into the rear baggage compartment of the trap. For some reason, Colton is in a foul mood - lately I could best describe Colton as ill-humoured and I am having trouble accepting his moodiness - and he is taking out his bad temper on the two, young slaves.

Even I can see the injustice of his treatment of the two, wretched boys but I can't intervene on their behalves. To do so would be to undermine Colton's authority over them. He flails them with both his tongue and his strap until their ears ring with his foul abuse and their shoulders and asses burn from the red stripes he's laying upon them.

Then, in a panic, one of the slaves drops a suitcase onto the driveway. This is enough to send Colton into frenzy. Viciously, he beats the slave to the ground but even this isn't enough to assuage his anger. He continues to lash out at the screaming slave who rolls himself into the foetal position in a vain effort to protect himself.

No damage has been done to the suitcase and I consider the slave's punishment is totally out of proportion to the seriousness of the offence. Although I have to admit the slave should have taken more care of his Master's property and some punishment is merited. However, to my mind two or three hits of Colton's strap would suffice?

Even though I think Colton's punishment is excessive my chief concern isn't with the slave's discomfort; rather it has more to do with the potential damage being done to him. The slave is, after all, a valuable asset and any permanent damage done to him lessens his value to me. He is as essential to the good running of my plantation as any other piece of equipment and to my mind Colton needs to respect that. I'm sure Colton wouldn't deliberately set out to damage or break a piece of machinery -even in a moment of anger -and so why would I allow him to irreparably damage a slave.

I have no qualms about any of my overseers punishing a slave - if it is warranted. Indeed, I expect them to maintain strict discipline among my slave herd and if an overseer can't do that then there is no place for him at La Forõ€'˜.

But I expect any punishment given to a slave to be both warranted and judicious. Despite my earlier inexperienced position, I am now opposed to any punishment that is capriciously given to a slave simply on the whim of an overseer. The overseer has to justify such punishment to the chief overseer, Claymore Jackson who shares my view.

This is a major shift in my thinking and it shows my growing maturity as a slave-owner. Six months ago, as a novice slave-holder, I had subjected Rafe to several harsh canings and other punishments. Several of these punishments were without valid reason; I'd deliberately manufactured them simply because I could do so. And at that time, I was motivated by my grandmother's overriding need for revenge against her Barrois family. Lucien Barrois was the target of her hatred and the slave Rafe became her whipping-boy and I had acquiesced.

But over the past six months Rafe has changed just as I have changed. He now accepts the fact that he is a slave - my slave - and this has altered my feelings toward him. As my pony we are entering into a new phase of our relationship. Of necessity, this must be built on a basis of mutual trust and regard and already I feel - at least from my perspective - a growing affection between us. This is much the same as my feelings toward my other pony, Norge.

But my new fondness for Rafe doesn't mean that I will 'go easy' on him and if I consider chastisement is necessary, then he will feel my displeasure. But this rule applies equally to all my other slaves.

In fact, one slave has displeased me and tomorrow I must oversee his whipping.

Before leaving the city for this latest visit to La Forõ€'˜, I'd received a complaint - and it was the latest of several others - from Cadmus, the new house steward I purchased to replace Ben as my grandmother's steward.

This became necessary after my grandmother suffered a debilitating stroke which left her paralysed and unable to speak. The many specialists I'd consulted all gave me the same opinion. My beloved grandmother would need constant, round the clock attention and rather than entrust her to the care of an indifferent stranger, I'd chosen to appoint Ben as her carer and body slave. Given the great trust that I'd placed in Ben, you'd expect that he'd have responded positively and worked diligently to ease his Mistress's burden. But he didn't and this disappointed me.

Cadmus is an older - and wiser - slave and is admirably suited to manage the household of his invalid Mistress. He hadn't come cheap. In fact, I thought his price was exorbitant and I suspect the slave-dealer, Lionel Schuster, knowing how desperately I needed a capable replacement for Ben, had deliberately overstated his worth and inflated his value. I wasn't in a position to argue with him - the slaver's attitude was very much 'take it or leave it'- and so I had purchased Cadmus. From my point of view no amount of money was too great to spend on my grandmother's quality of life. And I have to say Cadmus lives up to all my expectations.

However, the same can't be said of Ben. Obviously piqued by his replacement as house steward, he'd seen his new role as the care-giver to his Mistress as a demotion and not as an elevation of my trust in him. Ben became resentful of his new role - which I understand from Cadmus he sees as demeaning - and he is neglectful of his duties to his Mistress.

Patiently, Cadmus tried at first to reason with Ben but to no avail. Ben became surlier and more unco-operative by the day until finally, Cadmus had to resort to caning Ben in an attempt to refocus his mind on his new duties.

Cadmus had kept me informed of Ben's intransigence - I visit my grandmother daily to check on her well-being - and so I became aware of his problems with the troublesome, young slave and I fully endorsed his punishments.

However, in view of my past fondness for my former body-slave, I made allowances for Ben's bad behaviour initially believing it was simply an aberration in his otherwise impeccable record as a willing and obedient slave. I believed it was a case of allowing him to adjust to his new duties.

But the evening before I'd left for La Foret, I'd received word from Cadmus that the situation with Ben was worsening. He was contemptuous of Cadmus's authority and had become argumentative refusing to carry out any instructions given to him. Worst of all, his surliness was affecting my grandmother's wellbeing. Ben was openly impatient with her and her needs to the point of callous neglect. No matter how many times Cadmus remonstrated with Ben about taking proper care of their Mistress, he chose to remain defiant.

To say I am angry is an understatement. Ben, in whom I'd placed such trust, has disappointed me. I'd been lenient with him but would be no longer. Ben's bad attitude has become intolerable. I have lost patience with him and I must now resort to more drastic measures.

Tomorrow morning. I will drive Norge and Rafe over to my grandmother's home and have Ben soundly whipped and I will ask Major Swanston if I can borrow the services of his odious slave, Pug to administer his whipping.

When I'd appointed Ben as my grandmother's carer and companion, I realised that his new duties would be unpleasant and even irksome. But I knew of my grandmother's uncharacteristic fondness for Ben. It was an affection I thought he returned and I felt he, more than any other, would take care of her with loving devotion.

With my grandmother's inevitable passing, I'd resolved to reward Ben for his services to his late Mistress by freeing him from slavery. I had instructed my lawyer, Simon Barrow to prepare the documents for Ben's manumission. Additionally, I'd also decided to grant him an ex gratia payment sufficiently large enough for him to re-establish himself as a free man. And because of my fondness for my former bed buck, I'd decided to offer him fulltime employment in one of my enterprises.

But Ben's behaviour is inexcusable! I feel betrayed by him and I now see him as a cunning, manipulative slave who'd used his body and his charms to beguile me. I can't forgive him for this and I will have him flogged until he promises to serve his Mistress with all proper care and devotion.

And rather than reward Ben with his freedom after my grandmother's demise, I will extract further revenge for his lamentable behaviour. He will be taken to La Forõ€'˜ where he'll spend the rest of his days as a common field-hand.

Before he is taken out to La Foret, I will tell him how close he came to gaining his freedom and how he'd forfeited it through his bad attitude and poor behaviour. That should give him something to reflect upon as he spends the remainder of his days working under the whips of my overseers.

But of more immediate concern to me is the young slave being mercilessly beaten by Colton. The slave's begging to the major domo for mercy falls on deaf ears and it seems there is no end to Colton's anger.

As reluctant as I am to intervene - and undermine Colton's authority -I feel I must or otherwise see one of my slaves disfigured, perhaps permanently, over such a trivial offence.

The slave's back and ass are covered in angry, red welts but fortunately his skin hasn't been broken. He is paying a heavy price for his carelessness but I consider his punishment is excessive and I call for Colton to stop.

Colton is taken by surprise at my unexpected intervention; it is obvious his authority has never been challenged before. Momentarily, he ceases but then, as though he is having the last word, he defies me and strikes the slave once more before ordering him to his feet.

There is a telling silence as Colton glares balefully at me. I can see the veins bulging in his neck and his eyes flash with his anger. I wait for him to challenge me but wisely he decides not to. I am thankful that he doesn't; I really don't want an acrimonious exchange with him in front of my slaves. I have noticed that even a few garden slaves toiling in a nearby flower bed are watching with interest. No good would come from them seeing an argument between their Master and their overseer.

I try to defuse the situation by re-assuring Colton that my intervention doesn't in any way challenge his authority over the slaves under his control and that he has my fullest confidence. But I remind him my slaves are a valuable resource and while I accept they do require firm discipline, I don't want them excessively punished to the point where they are incapacitated through injury or permanently disfigured. And I leave it there!

I'm not sure whether this soothes Colton's injured pride. And really I'm not all that concerned with his feelings. After all, Colton is my employee and I have the say as to how he is to treat my slaves. But somehow, as I look at Colton, I feel the house and garden slaves are in for a very hard few days once I leave. But he now knows there is a limit to my patience and to how far he can punish my slaves.

My luggage is now loaded and I enter the trap ready for my return trip to the city. This isn't the same trap I'd driven out - that was a single pony unit - whereas this is a two pony conveyance and is roomier. My trip home promises to be a very comfortable one.

Originally, I'd planned to use the one pony trap for my return with Norge between the shafts and Rafe running alongside of him. But sensibly, Claymore Jackson suggested I place Rafe between the shafts with Norge and have him pull also. This makes sense and I am grateful to Claymore for his suggestion. The three to four hour run back to the city will give me ample opportunity to put Rafe through his paces and to test out his speed on a flat run and his stamina on the many hills that he'll have to climb.

Without hesitation, the slave, who I'd 'rescued' from Colton's anger, hurries forward to untether the reins of both ponies and hands them to me. As he does so he looks at me with gratitude. Obviously, the slave doesn't understand that my intervention wasn't motivated by the extending of leniency to him or sparing him pain; it had more to do with me protecting my monetary investment in him. Still, I suppose if I'd been in his place, I would have been grateful for any intervention that spared me from Colton's bad temper.

I take my final leave of Colton and slap the reins against the shoulders of both ponies and command them to.

"WALK ON!"

Immediately, Norge and Rafe, pulling in unison, strain forward into their harness and we are on our way back to the city.

I don't over extend the ponies and I drive them at a leisurely pace down the long, curving driveway to the distant road leading back to town. I sit back and listen to the rhythmic pounding of the ponies' feet and the scrunching of the cart's wheel in the loose gravel as I admire the graceful movements of their naked bodies. I am overwhelmed with a sense of pride in my ownership of both slaves.

I consider the driveway is one of the outstanding features of La Foret. Its deciduous trees, planted by my original de Barrois ancestor, have reached a venerable age and lend a stately air to the approaches to the colonial homestead and its gardens. Their thick trunks stand like grey-green cathedral columns on either side of the carriageway and overhead their branches intertwine to form a dense canopy which turns the driveway into a leafy tunnel.

It is late autumn and above me, a gentle breeze rustles softly through the branches causing the russet and gold leaves to fall; in their multitude, they softly float twisting and twirling to the ground and add to the vibrant, underfoot carpet. The air is filled with a mellow ripeness and it is suffused with a golden-red glow which reflects back from the glistening, sweat- beaded torsos of both Norge and Rafe.

I recall that day six months ago when I'd travelled along this same driveway with Rafe and Pollux tied to either side of Norge. Then Rafe had been frightened and apprehensive of what awaited him. Today he seems more at ease with himself and certainly he appears relaxed as he runs confidently alongside the more experienced Norge.

Both ponies are a delight to the eye and proudly I watch the muscular display of their powerful bodies as they run in tandem. I now look forward to driving them through the streets of the capital harnessed to my new cart which I'd especially commissioned for use with Norge and Rafe.

My new cart is one of understated elegance which reflects my new found sense of good taste. Once I'd have opted for the flashy and the trashy. But no more! Since my ascension to my new life, I have lived surrounded by the refinement and good taste of my former Barrois relatives and I know a lot of what I now appreciate and take for granted is due to Lucien Barrois' innate, exquisite tastes.

Lucien is becoming less obvious to me now. At first, wherever I looked, I was reminded of him. His presence was everywhere to be seen and felt - in the dＤor and furnishings of both my city home and La Forõ€'˜. Everything about both places overawed me and made me feel insecure. That was indicative of my lack of self-confidence and I had to work hard to overcome it. Eventually, I did so and now I have the poise of the self-possessed.

Lucien's presence is now almost non-existent - just an occasional fleeting memory - and he has been supplanted by the slave Rafe.

We drive out through the massive stone pillars which mark La Forõ€'˜'s entrance and turn left onto the paved road leading back to the city some three to four hours' drive from here. The road is flat and I am anxious to test Rafe. Once more, I slap the reins against the ponies' shoulders and rap out the order to.

"HUP! HUP!"

Their response to my command is immediate and pleasing and they increase their speed.

It is still early morning; the weather has the warmth of an Indian summer and yet I am cooled by the gentle breeze generated by the ponies' steady, rhythmic running. Before leaving, I'd had a slave raise the trap's canopy to protect my complexion from the sun's rays. Unfortunately, I am auburn haired with a fair-skin and I have a low tolerance to strong sunlight. I must wear a heavy duty sunscreen and a broad-brimmed hat when in the open to protect my face from turning fiery red.

As I look out at Norge and Rafe from the shade of the canopy I am envious of their nakedness. Both slaves are gloriously tanned to a rich, honey-gold brown. And I am delighted that the colour of Rafe's ass now matches the rest of his body. I recall the day six months ago when I brought him out to La Forõ€'˜ to begin his training. Then his ass and midriff were alabaster-white; a jarring division between the tan of his upper body and his legs. This had grated on me and I am glad to see that after working naked for six months, this anomaly in his appearance has been corrected. Today, the colour of his body is uniform and matches perfectly that of Norge.

This isn't the only similarity between the two ponies. Indeed, from where I sit, there is very little to differentiate between them. Each is of the same height and weight with identical body builds and I am struck with the way their bodies work in perfect harmony as they run.

From the rear it is hard to distinguish between them - even their delightfully curvaceous asses are identical - but there is one small difference that individualises them and that is the colour of their hair. Norge's hair is Nordic blond which appears white-gold in the strong sunlight. Rafe's hair is darker and it is the colour of sun-ripened corn.

The heads of both ponies are closely cropped in keeping with modern trends. I can't say I am in favour of this; personally I prefer that a pony's hair is styled longer. I really do like for it to be long enough to see it ruffled by the wind as he runs. During recent visits to La Forõ€'˜, I have noticed one of the overseers driving a pony that sports a Mohawk-style haircut. The overseer has allowed the hair to grow shoulder length at the back which gives the impression of a true mane.

On my first sighting, I didn't like the slave's appearance but on subsequent ones I grew to appreciate the innovation and imagination of the pony's driver so much so that I asked to inspect the pony on this my latest visit. And I have to say I was somewhat impressed.

The overseer - his name is Regis - welcomed my interest in his pony that goes by the name of Honky. I like that name; somehow it suits the slave and once again I was impressed with Regis's imagination.

I asked Regis why he'd styled his pony's hair in this manner and he'd told me it was because he likes the way the wind tosses Honky's mane as he runs. This is in accord with my own preference and Regis - sensing my interest - encouraged me to take his pony for a drive.

Now as I look at my two ponies, I can visualise them with shoulder length 'honky manes' which could be further enhanced by plaiting their hair with satin ribbons and bows which match the colour of the four sets of new harness I'd bought for use with my new carriage.

But, I ask - do the two ponies need such embellishments? Would such a mane detract from their overall appearances? Both slaves are in the peak of physical condition and their bodies are a sheer delight to gaze upon. Why not leave well alone and enjoy their physicality in its natural state? I decide then and there that Norge and Rafe will stay as they are but with their hair longer than their current close crops.

In their common nakedness, my two ponies have an almost primitive beauty which is impossible to improve upon by the use of fancy manes and satin ribbons. They are perfection and require no enhancements on my part to emphasise the magnificence of their bodies. I will leave them as Nature intended; to do otherwise borders on the sacrilegious.

I'd carefully chosen the colours of the new harnesses to harmonise with my new carriage. The carriage is tastefully finished in regal, navy blue, high gloss paint with matching leather upholstery and I'd eschewed the usual, over-the-top trimmings you see on most of the pony traps around the city streets. Instead of the usual faux gold lamps and tawdry, gilt door handles, I'd decided on simple chrome ones that don't detract from the overall appearance of the trap and yet give it an air of refined elegance. I'd forgone the usual heavy gilt embossing and over the top scroll work and kept that simple too. The only adornment I'd used was a discreetly small replica of the new Maratier family crest on the rear luggage compartment.

The new harnesses complement the trap. It hadn't been easy selecting the colours but finally I'd chosen four - royal blue, maroon, black and white. And as I look at Norge and Rafe, I can picture them in their new harness.

Because they are of identical build, I'd used Norge as the working template for the new harnesses. I'd taken him to the harness-makers for the initial measuring up and watched as he was fitted with several 'off the hook' sets of harness. I'd rejected these on the grounds that they were either too loose or too tight. I wanted the harnesses that both Norge and Rafe are to wear to be snug fitting and to emphasise their physiques. The harnesses had to be 'just right'; I wanted the leather harnesses to isolate and yet, at the same time, draw attention to the different muscle groupings in the torsos of the two ponies. I wanted the harnesses to highlight their powerful pectorals and to draw attention to their ribbed abdomens.

After all, Norge and Rafe are the near human equivalents to equine thoroughbreds; I wanted nothing but the best for them. They deserve no less! And so the eight sets of harness were custom made to mould into the shape of both slaves' bodies.

And for that reason, I refused to consider the frippery that you see on so many ponies nowadays. Despite the efforts of the saddle makers, I refused to consider adorning Norge's and Rafe's heads with colourful head plumes and their asses with faux ponytails.

I know it is fashionable among the noveau riche to deck out their ponies with high plumes and false horsehair tails but I consider this is in poor taste - although not so long ago I would probably have shown the same gaucheness. Now my tastes are more refined. How could they be otherwise when I live surrounded by the inherent good taste of my former cousin, Lucien?

Both ponies are just coasting along a flat stretch of the road and I decide it is time to put Rafe to the test. I remove my driver's whip from its holder and take careful aim at his ass. I doubt he heard the sibilant hiss of the whip but most certainly he felt its sting. I hear him grunt as he lunges forward into his harness.

The strain of moving forward brings into play the powerful muscles of his broad back which co-ordinate beautifully with the undulations of his ass-cheeks and the long piston like striding of his strong legs.

I recall what Claymore Jackson had recently told me about appreciating the whole of a pony's body under stress and not just his ass. I do so now and I can see that Claymore is right. Rafe's body, running under the whip, is truly a thing of beauty.

Once more I take careful aim -a little harder this time - and lay another stripe across the rounded curves of his buttocks. Erotically, both fiery stripes show livid red against the honey-gold of his skin.

Despite Claymore's advice to look at a pony's body in its entirety rather than just concentrate on one feature, I find my attention is focusing more and more on Rafe's ass. And why shouldn't it be at the centre of my attention. For tonight I am to claim it as my own and I have waited six months to do so. During that time, I'd insisted that Rafe's ass remain inviolate; it wasn't to be used by either the overseers or his fellow slaves. And because of that Rafe remains a tight-assed virgin.

Tonight, I will claim what is rightfully mine. I will exercise my owner's rights of 'jus primae noctis' over my slave. Or to use the common vernacular - I will take Rafe's cherry.

Initially, this was to be the final, climactic event of my revenge against my hated Barrois cousin, Lucien. I'd intended to use it as the ultimate payback for all the injustices done to my Maratier family by their Barrois relatives.

I had planned to use him sexually. I'd intended to fuck him both hard and brutally and to strip from him the last vestiges of his humanity. My hatred of him - instilled into me by my grandmother - was that intense.

That was my plan initially! But in the intervening six months, there has been a gradual shifting away from that position and I now have a very different attitude towards Rafe.

What has changed my mind? The answer is unexpected and to put it simply - it is Rafe.

Over the past six months, my contempt for Rafe has given way to a grudging respect for his quiet dignity and resilience in the face of the horrendous fate that overtook him. It's true that, at first, he'd not handled the trauma of his changed circumstances well. But who could blame him for that? I have thought about this numerous times and each time, I asked myself would I have coped with his situation any better. The answer is - 'no, I wouldn't'.

In the early days of his enslavement, I'd subjected Rafe to very harsh treatment and every humiliation. And that had continued out at La Forõ€'˜. Yet he'd survived all that I could throw at him which couldn't have been easy given his former life of privilege. However, Rafe surprised me with his ability to survive and to adapt.

And in doing so, he'd retained an understated dignity not possessed by his fellow slaves. By that I don't mean that Rafe is anything other than a slave. He is both submissive and respectful; as his Master I demand no less of him.

Whenever he is in my presence, he maintains a proper master/slave attitude. He stands mute with his head bowed and never speaks unless I bid him to do so. And always he begins and ends his answers to my questions with the honorific due to me as his owner - 'Master'. And in its use there is neither sarcasm nor resentment.

But there is an intangible 'something' about Rafe. Even though his bearing is that of a slave, he has an ingrained poise that very few free men have. Perhaps this is as a result of the many generations of good breeding that have preceded him. I remind myself that Rafe, despite possessing the possible, tainted blood of the slave woman, Ophelia, does share with me the illustrious, aristocratic bloodline of the Barrois family.

Rafe has a natural, likeable quality about him and I'm not immune to it. Rafe is guileless and very much an open book. He wears his emotions for all to see; unlike my former body-slave Ben, he isn't calculating or manipulative and there is no deviousness in him. That he has been able to retain these qualities despite all his vicissitudes is something that I grudgingly admire.

And in spite of all his traumas of the past six months, Rafe retains something of his boyish innocence and this adds to his overall appeal.

This morning, as Rafe runs before me, I think about his future. My plan is that he serves me as a pony. And looking at him in harness with Norge, I see he is well suited to this task. Yet, he has a magnificent body that stirs my erotic fantasies. I imagine him on my bed waiting to surrender his virginity to me. The thought of Rafe's ass waiting for me to claim it causes me to become rampantly erect and lulls me into a pleasant reverie. Could Rafe conceivably serve me as my body slave and bed-buck? Certainly, he is a worthy candidate for both roles.

And in using him as my pleasure slave, I could lighten the burden of his slavery.

Self-interest dictates that Rafe is to remain a slave for the rest of his days. Despite my growing fondness for him there'll be no manumission of his slavery. To set him free would be against my interests.

Over the past six months, I have accepted my changed circumstances and I now enjoy my life of wealth and privilege. And I am not about to change that situation.

On reflection, I suppose I do have a reluctant sense of guilt about what has happened to Rafe. Always at the back of my mind is the niggling doubt about the legitimacy of his enslavement. Did my grandmother manufacture the circumstances which resulted in Lucien Barrois being stripped of his wealth and deprived of his freedom? Despite my great love for my grandmother, I know she's not beyond such a possibility. Her hatred of her family and her insatiable need for revenge could have blinded her to reason and distorted her sense of fair play.

To give Rafe his liberty would be to free him to seek out the truth or otherwise of my grandmother's claims. Should they prove false it would mean a re-instatement to his former life. And who could blame him for trying to right such a terrible injustice. But where would that leave me? It would leave me penniless and vulnerable to possible prosecution for fraud and if found guilty it could mean slavery for me.

I enjoy my life as the inheritor of the former Barrois fortune too much to risk it. Nor will I jeopardise my son, Etienne's birth right as my heir.

No, there'll be no freedom for Rafe. Ever! He will remain a slave.

But perhaps I could take measures to ease the burden of that slavery? I will think more on this.

There is one other thing I have noticed about Rafe. He has about him an air of vulnerability that does affect others. I have seen this affect my other pony Norge. I recall how, on the day when Lucien Barrois became the slave Rafe, Norge had rejoiced in his downfall and gloated as the new slave ran naked alongside of him through the city streets. But within days, something happened to change Norge's attitude towards Rafe. I don't know exactly what it was but I watched as Norge became very protective of Rafe. I never asked Norge why he did this - it would be unseemly for me to ask a slave about his personal feelings - but I suspect he had succumbed to Rafe's air of vulnerability.

And over the past six months, I have watched a growing affection develop between Norge and Rafe. I have seen it in the way each looks at the other and in the encouraging smiles that Norge flashes at Rafe whenever they come into close proximity. And I have seen Rafe's shy, answering smile and when I look into his eyes, I see the deep love he has for Norge.

I understand there is this bond between Norge and Rafe and I see that only good can come from it. Surely their closeness will serve my best interests as they run before me in tandem as my ponies.

I will turn a blind eye to their night time frolics once they are stabled for the night. It amuses me to consider which of the two will assume the dominant role. Somehow I know it will be Norge.

But that won't happen until after I exercise my 'law of the first night' rights over Rafe and rob him of his virginity.

And that will happen tonight!

Looming on the horizon is the first of the several hills that we have to climb between here and the city. The road is flat and I decide we need to build up the momentum to take us over the top of this first hill.

I bring my whip into play, using it first on Norge and then on Rafe. Both ponies respond favourably and taking the bit between their teeth, they leap forward as one. I slap my reins on their shoulders and spur them on to great effort.

"HUP! HUP! HUP!"

Norge is the more practised of the two and I know he is giving me his best effort. I'm not sure about the inexperienced Rafe and decide he needs further encouragement. I put my whip to his ass and shoulders constantly until I am convinced that he too is applying himself to the fullest of his ability.

Rafe is unable to vocalise his pain and involuntarily lunges forward in a vain attempt to escape the whip. I always think it is amusing how a pony believes he can outrun his driver's whip. I suppose it is an instinctive, survival re-action to avoid pain. But it has the desired effect and Rafe pulls harder and runs faster. Now, he is giving me his best effort and I can't expect any more of him.

As Norge and Rafe quickly build up speed, I sit back under the comforting shade of my canopy and enjoy the erotic spectacle being played out before me.

I am rewarded with a display of two sundrenched, muscular bodies working in synchronised harmony. The muscles in their gleaming backs ripple under the sheen of their sweat and their long, powerful thighs flex as they keep in step with one another. Their prominent balls, tightly restrained within their cinched scrotums hang low in the day's heat and swing freely between their muscular thighs. The rhythmic movements of the shining, sweat-streaked orbs of their powerful buttocks and the occasional, tantalising glimpse of their wrinkled, pink anuses winking with the exertion of their running awakens lustful thoughts within me.

Under the guidance of the reins held firmly in my hands, both ponies maintain their steady running. Breathing heavily; their strong chests rise and fall as they greedily gulp air into their labouring lungs. The weight of the cart pulls back on them placing ever greater strain on their stretched-out muscles and throwing them into sharp relief. Both ponies are spectacles of raw, taut muscle power and I am entranced by them.

And I am enthralled by the sight of their strong, muscular asses working in unison. I am all consumed with the thought of driving my cock into Rafe's tight, virgin ass. Suddenly, I can think of nothing else and I am impatient to be at home.

Once more I apply my whip to build up the speed necessary to carry us over this first hill. Both Norge and Rafe are running at full capacity and there is only an imperceptible slowing of our momentum as we reach the crest and begin our descent into the valley below.

On the distant horizon another hill shimmers in the blue heat haze. It looms higher and steeper than this one.

Norge and Rafe are to be sorely tested before we arrive back in the city.

Tonight, I look down at Rafe's crouching figure and I see the slight trembling of his whip striped body as he waits for my command. Is he trembling from apprehension of what he surely knows is to follow? Or is he, like me, trembling from the anticipation of the coming pleasures that awaits us?

Once more, I order him to kiss my feet in homage before commanding him to stand. As he springs quickly to his feet and assumes the display position, I am overwhelmed by his sheer physicality and unmatched beauty.

Rafe is truly a magnificent slave as he stands before me in all his naked splendour. He is my slave and I am now to assert my right of ownership over him.

My erection is iron-rod rigid and matches perfectly that of my slave. Rafe's cock twitches involuntarily and a small pearl of his precum glistens at his piss-slit. It would seem that Rafe is as eager as I am and my cock throbs in anticipation of exploring the tightness of his hidden delights. I can wait no longer.

I order Rafe onto my bed. I am ready to fuck my slave!

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