Changed Circumstances

CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES A Sequel to "A Reversal of Fortune" Chapter 50 Major Swanston's Test Drive

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

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Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris): April, 2012 An archive of all my stories can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Jean-Christophe_Stories

"The characters and ideas in this story are the writer's and shouldn't be used without his permission. Please respect the integrity of the story and don't do any rewrites, make alterations or add pictures"

Chapter 50: Major Swanston's Test Drive

Fortuitously the journey from Master's home to his grandmother's house is a short one. Nevertheless it is arduous in that Major Swanston holds the reins and is putting Norge and me 'through our paces'.

He constantly applies the whip to our shoulders and asses and he has us running at 'breakneck' speed.

True, it is autumn, but there is still a sting in the Indian summer heat that has us perspiring profusely. Our sweat adds an oil-like sheen to our nakedness and highlights the interplay of our muscles as we run. With my wrists fastened to the shafts I can't wipe the beads of perspiration from my brow; its saltiness stings my eyes and I can feel it trickling down over the plains and valleys my chest and belly in irritating little rivulets.

I am harnessed to the left of Norge and Major Swanston's slave Pug has been fastened to the shaft on my left so that I am running between both my fellow slaves.

Of course, the odious Pug is just a passenger along for the run. He provides no motive power - that is left to Norge and me - but he must keep up with us and so he too is subject to the driver's whip. In fact, he feels its fiery sting each time it is applied to Norge and me.

Pug will be pressed into service when we arrive at our destination. He is to deliver a whipping to the unfortunate slave Ben who has displeased Master by his callous disregard for the well-being of his stricken Mistress, Charlotte Maratier.

Poor Ben! Even though he'd treated me badly, I can't help but feel some sympathy for his plight. He is young and has been very foolish. He'd ably served me as both my body slave and my bed-buck and when Guy Maratier had been awarded the Barrois inheritance; he'd kept Ben to serve him in that capacity too.

Ben is eminently suited to both tasks and, revealing a cunning he'd carefully not used on me as his Master, he'd quickly ingratiated himself into his new Master's good graces. Of course it has to be said that Ben cunningly took advantage of Guy Maratier's inexperience. Guy's previous poverty had prevented him from ever owning a slave and so he lacked the knowledge of the experienced slave- owner.

Ben had seized on his new Master's lack of expertise and used his sexual wiles to manipulate his Master into advancing his own position within the household. He'd been elevated to the lofty position of house steward and it was in that capacity that he'd then moved with Charlotte Maratier to her newly established household.

Briefly all had gone well for Ben. As his Mistress' pet, he'd ruled her household singlehandedly and indulged by her, Ben was virtually answerable to no one.

Life must have seemed sweet for Ben even though he was still a slave. He'd achieved so much in such a short time. Perhaps that is now the reason for his downfall. He'd overreached, and supremely overconfident, he'd not been prepared for the change in his circumstances when his Mistress's sudden stroke left her paralysed and speechless.

Our Master had replaced Ben with an older slave, Cadmus as the household steward so that Ben could devote all his time and energy into looking after his stricken Mistress. Apparently, Ben had resented this and he became surly and neglectful to the point where he now callously ignores her and her comfort.

Unfortunately, Ben is to pay a high price for this. He is to be soundly whipped by Pug and then taken to La Forõ€'˜ to work out his days as a heavy-duty, field slave. I know from my recent stay at the plantation that this is a frightful prospect and one for which Ben is totally unprepared.

The days will be bad for Ben unaccustomed as he is to hard physical labour. But his nights spent in the slave stables will be infinitely worse as he is exposed to the depraved attentions of the more dominant of his fellow slaves. I recall the raping of Pollux and know that inevitably this will be the comely Ben's fate. His good looks and delightful ass will be an irresistible lure for their lust.

And ironically, he'd come so close to being set free. Last evening, I'd overheard Master tell Major Swanston that he'd had the papers of manumission drawn up giving Ben his freedom and of his plans to settle an 'ex gratia' payment on him for his devotion and service to Charlotte Maratier.

Unwittingly and through his own stupidity, Ben had virtually shredded the papers of his own manumission and condemned himself to a life of unremitting hard labour and relentless pain at La Forõ€'˜.

Freedom! How the notion taunts me. It's not until one has freedom taken from him that he can fully appreciate how much he has lost. This morning, as I run alongside of Norge pulling our Master's new carriage, freedom from my slavery is just an abstract dream that I know will never materialise.

I feel a measure of anger at this. Freedom had beckoned for Ben. Unknowingly, he has now thrown away that freedom and by his foolishness, he has condemned himself to a lifetime of the worst type of servitude.

I, on the other hand, doubt that my Master will ever offer me my freedom. Like Ben, I am forever condemned to serve as his slave. However, unlike Ben, my servitude won't be as onerous. True, working as a pony is hard work - and shouldn't be trivialised - but it isn't as relentless as days spent labouring in the fields bent double under the overseer's lash. And I am to work with my beloved Norge. That is a precious consolation that will make my slavery endurable. My love for Norge and his for me will sustain us both and make our lives as slaves tolerable.

Last night, Master had claimed my slave's body as his own. He'd taken my virginity and this now leaves me free to unconditionally offer myself to Norge. As we run together, I am conscious of his presence. Wearing blinkers, I'm aware of his masculinity more than I see it and the heady aroma of his sweat arouses me so that I am rampantly erect. But then a sideways glance at both Norge and Pug show me that they also sport similar erections that do us proud. There is something erotic about running as a pony that arouses us. Perhaps it's some animalistic sense deep within that stirs us?

"Pick it up Rafe! Keep in step with Norge! Concentrate!"

Major Swanston's imperious command is accompanied by a furious cut of his whip across my ass; the impact of which drives all thoughts of Ben from my mind and snaps me back to the reality of my situation. Involuntarily, I lunge forward into my harness, fall back into step with Norge and pace myself to him. As always, the Major has asserted his authority over a slave and shown his complete mastery of pony handling.

Major Swanston:

I have to say both ponies are magnificent and I truly envy Guy his ownership of them.

I have long admired the Norwegian pony, Norge; my fondness for him goes back to when he'd belonged to my godson, the former Lucien Barrois. Now of course Lucien is no more; this morning he runs before me as the pony Rafe. I have to admit that Rafe's nakedness complements Norge's own nudity perfectly. Surely these two ponies are the finest matched pair in the city and as such their owner could justifiably set his own price for them. Should they ever go to auction, then they'll be eagerly sought after and I have no doubt they'll sell for a small fortune.

I would be proud to own them and to add them to my stable of young thoroughbreds. When the time is right, I'll ask their Master to give me the 'right of first refusal' should he ever decide to sell them?

I have long been a connoisseur of prime ponies and I pride myself that my knowledge of 'horseflesh' is second to none. Currently, I have six ponies in my stables and none of them come up to the standards of either Norge or Rafe.

My current favourite is a 23 year old boy I have named 'Ruffles'. It's an unusual name I know but then Ruffles isn't the usual 'run of the mill' pony. He lacks the bulk of my other ponies and I suppose one would describe him as possessing a wiry build. But what he lacks in bulk is more than compensated for in his endurance, stamina and speed. I doubt that I have ever owned a pony that is faster or more capable of running over long distances at such sustained speed as Ruffles.

When I'd first laid eyes on Ruffles, I was immediately attracted to him. He had an indefinable quality about him which at first defied description. But later I was to see it as a type of 'boyish cuteness'. His clean, open face is without guile and his hazel eyes reflect the gentleness of his nature. His brown, cropped hair invites you to stroke it and inexplicably, I found myself reaching out and ruffling it.

Hence the name I bestowed on him - 'Ruffles'.

His young body - which as I said lacks the bulk of my other ponies - is nevertheless very attractive. His broad shoulders taper down to a slim waist. His chest, whilst not massive, swells with his well- rounded pectoral muscles - each is dominated by a sharply pointed ruby- red nipple -and the deep indent of his navel lies at the centre of his clearly defined abdominal muscles. Despite his slight build, Ruffles is well endowed with large balls which hang low between his thighs. His generous, cut cock rests cheekily askew at an angle on top of his ball-sac.

Ruffles is 'my pony of the day' and lately I find myself using him more than any other of my ponies. I delight in driving him and watching the erotic display of his shapely ass in action. This morning, as I drive Norge and Rafe, their delectable asses remind me so much of Ruffle's ass. And like him they wear the vivid red stripes of my driving whip most beguilingly.

But Ruffles most endearing quality is his willingness to please me by the giving of his very best in serving me as my pony.

Damn it! How I envy Guy Maratier. The man leads a charmed life and everything continues to go his way. Unexpectedly, he'd been plucked from the very depths of poverty and elevated to the dizzy heights of unimaginable wealth when it was revealed he is the rightful heir to the Barrois Empire.

This wasn't altogether his doing! I doubt he had it within him to challenge the validity of old Jean- Claude Barrois' will. No, he can't take the credit for that. He owes his present good fortune to his abominable grandmother, Charlotte Maratier. The old harridan is made of sterner stuff than her grandson. I should say she was as she is now an invalid who has lost the ability to move or to speak. I know it's wrong to speak ill of her, but among the city's social elite there is sense of relief that her efforts to re-establish her 'rightful' place in their social strata have been curtailed by her recent stroke. We all heaved a collective sigh of relief when we'd heard the news of her sudden illness.

I quite like Guy Maratier despite his common origins. There is something of the Barrois bloodline within him that reminds me of Lucien Barrois. Lucien had been my godson and he'd spent much time in my company as a young boy, a developing teenager and as a self-assured young man. Indeed, I pride myself that I'd had a hand in shaping his development. It's true to say I had great affection for Lucien and it had come as a shock when it was revealed that he was the unfortunate result of a dalliance between his Barrois father and a family slave woman .

On first hearing the news that Lucien was now the slave Rafe, I was dismayed for him and saddened by this tragic turn of events. I remember my first thoughts were for him and his state of mind. How could he possibly cope with his reversal of fortune?

But my sympathy soon gave way to cold anger. When the true implications of his slave birth had sunk into my consciousness, I'd felt outrage with the Barrois family for insinuating a slave child into my affections and falsely presenting him to me as its heir.

I'd felt cuckolded and insulted by their actions and then to ask me to be that child's godfather only compounded the injury that had been done to my dignity. I was affronted by the notion that I, no matter how unwittingly, had been a willing - and doting - godfather to a slave child. I had welcomed that child into my home and dangled him on my knees as I spent time with him telling him stories of my army exploits and treating him as free born. The whole idea of this repulsed me and I grew to resent Rafe the slave even though I knew he was innocent of any wrongdoing.

My first sight of Rafe as a slave was in the evening on the day of his enslavement when his new Master, Guy Maratier, accompanied by two court officials, arrived to claim his home and his new inheritance.

Rafe had run naked alongside of Norge on the return journey from the courts. How different he looked from the self-assured Lucien Barrois who, just a few hours before, had stopped by to tell me of his summons to appear before the Court of Disputations.

I remember Lucien had expressed his concern that he'd been called to appear in the court and I'd gone to great pains to put his mind at rest by telling him that it was probably a minor administration problem that his lawyer would soon set right. I was wrong of course; but understandably so, for how could I or any other person have foreseen the consequences of that court summons.

I learned of the judge's momentous and life changing decision shortly after he'd handed down his findings. I had a friend who was a witness to the court's proceedings and, aware of my connection to the Barrois family, he'd contacted me and broke the news to me.

At first I refused to believe what I'd heard. It was just too preposterous to be true!

But it was true and then I saw it as my civic duty to inform Lucien's immediate neighbours of his new situation and to arrange a delegation to welcome Guy Maratier to his new home and to extend the warm hand of fellowship to him.

And as we'd welcomed Guy into our tightknit little cul-de-sac, I'd caught my first sight of Rafe in all his naked splendour. Graciously, Guy gave me permission to examine Rafe and I did so dispassionately. Although, as I subjected him to my close scrutiny, I was struck by the irony that just a few hours ago that this new slave had been my godson.

I have to say that I was impressed with Rafe's potential as a slave. Tall, with long limbs and a sound, robust body he epitomised my concept of the perfect slave. True, he lacked the stamina of a hard labour slave but as Guy's stated intention was to send him out at La Forõ€'˜ for conditioning, I knew this would correct any physical shortcomings he possessed.

And I concurred with Guy's plans to use Rafe as a pony. My view was that Rafe would reach his full potential running in harness as a pony.

Now as I look out at Rafe and Norge running in tandem, that opinion is confirmed.

This morning I am accompanying Guy Maratier to his grandmother's home where I understand he has a recalcitrant slave in need of whipping. Last evening, he'd asked if he could borrow my slave Pug to administer the whipping and I had happily agreed. In fact, I had Pug limber up his flogging arm from early morning and overnight I'd even soaked the whip to be used in a brine solution to make it flexible and to give it more bite. The wretched slave will surely feel the full force Pug's considerable strength and the brine will add another measure of pain to his suffering. This is routine practice with my slaves.

Guy had invited me to witness the flogging and he'd gone even further in suggesting that I might like to drive Norge and Rafe; this was an offer I couldn't refuse.

This is the first outing of Guy's new carriage and ponies and I must say I am impressed. The carriage is truly a thing of beauty and a vehicle worthy of both Norge and Rafe. Guy has shown exquisite taste and its understated elegance does him credit. This surprises me. Given his lack of breeding, Guy could be excused if he'd opted for something 'flashy and trashy' like so many of the noveau riche who our society seems to spawn.

Norge and Rafe both wear new, matching harness of the same royal navy blue colour of the carriage. Their harness is highlighted with discreet, silver studs which blend perfectly with the conveyance's silver trim. It is superbly sprung - ensuring Guy and me of a most comfortable trip -and has the softest Moroccan leather upholstery which moulds itself to the body and retains its delightful, new tanner's smell.

I'd always found it immensely enjoyable to drive a well turned-out pony and trap. For me it is one of life's simple pleasures. This morning, Guy had graciously invited me to take the ponies' reins and I'd accepted his offer with alacrity.

As I settled into the driver's seat alongside of Guy, he handed the reins to me. I was very keen to see the two ponies in action and I slapped the reins against their backs and commanded them to.

"Walk on!"

The slaves responded by thrusting forward into their harness and our journey began. At first, I'd allowed them to walk slowly giving their bodies a chance to warm up and for their muscles to adjust to the strain of a new day's labour. This is normal procedure for me. Long experience has taught me it is better to allow a pony this opportunity to slowly settle himself into his task. By gently walking him for a few minutes at the beginning of his day, a pony's metabolism quickly adjusts itself to his bodily needs. This eases away any overnight tightness in his legs and other muscle groups and his breathing regulates itself to meet the correct oxygen requirements of his body. So I didn't push either Norge or Rafe at that early stage. That came later!

Then, as we exited our quiet residential cul-de-sac and turn onto the wide, tree lined avenue, I issued the command to.

"Slow trot!"

I have to say both ponies' responses to my instructions were impeccable and indicative of the excellent training they'd undergone at La Forõ€'˜. I was impressed by this and asked Guy who was responsible.

"Guy, I have to say both ponies' responses to my orders are faultless. Who trained them?"

"My chief estate manager, Claymore Jackson supervised their training. He's a very demanding taskmaster and he wouldn't settle for anything less than their utmost best."

"And his good training shows! Both ponies are a sheer delight to handle. But let's see of what they are capable, shall we?"

I removed the driving whip from its holder and, almost lovingly, flicked it against their asses. Unable to vocalise their cries of pain both slaves lurched forward in a vain attempt to escape the sting of the lash and broke into a faster trot. Once more I lashed them, this time on the shoulders and I was rewarded with yet another positive response.

I'm well practised in the training of pony slaves and firmly believe they perform best under the whip. In my experience, I know pony slaves are naturally lazy creatures, and unless firmly controlled by their drivers, they will hold back in the performance of their duties. For this reason, the maximum effort has to be coaxed out of them and this is best achieved with the driver's whip.

Once more I applied the whip; the response of both slaves was immediate and they increased their pace to a gentle canter. I settled back into my seat and appraised the ponies in action.

I was rewarded with a display of two muscular bodies working in perfect unison with one another. The muscles in their gleaming backs rippled under their sweaty sheen and their long, powerful thighs flexed as they ran. Because of the morning's heat, their walnut sized balls, tightly contained within their cinched scrotums swung low and were on prominent display. The glistening globes of their powerful buttocks provided me with a delightful spectacle as they too, rippled and flexed in time with their long strides. And most delightfully, I was accorded an occasional, tantalising glimpse of their pink anuses winking at me from the exertion of their running.

Embarrassingly, I felt my cock harden at the erotic sight of Norge and Rafe in action. This inevitably happens whenever I am driving a pony trap. Normally, this wouldn't worry me as I usually travel alone. But this morning, Guy is sitting beside me and I was conscious of my rampant erection. Quickly, I looked around for a traveller's rug and not finding one, I self-consciously brought my knees together in an attempt to hide my discomfiture. But then with a sideways glance, I saw the tent poling in Guy's pants and I was no longer embarrassed. After all, we are both men of the world and I was no longer concerned.

I simply concentrated on watching the two ponies in action and Pug who ran alongside of Rafe merely as a passenger. Pug's body was in sharp contrast to those of Norge and Rafe.

Theirs' are the bodies of the thoroughbred while Pug's is that of the ugly brute. He stands at over six feet high and I estimate that he weighs in excess of two hundred pounds. Whilst he is heavily built, he is without any body fat and is all solid, hard muscle. Bull-necked and broad shouldered, his back tapers down to a slim waist and is covered in long, coarse black hair that matches the thick thatch on his chest and belly. This hirsuteness is in sharp contrast to the smooth, hairless dome of his head which glistened in the early morning sunlight with crystal like beads of perspiration.

As Pug paced himself to Norge and Rafe, his thick, muscular legs accentuated the undulations of his buttocks. I evaluated the three, naked asses running before me. Those belonging to Norge and Rafe were identical in appearance and appeal. The deliciously rounded curves of their hairless asses were in sharp contrast to Pug's hirsute, muscular one. I supposed if I had to describe Pug's ass I would say it was akin to that of the 'plough ox' whereas the ones belonging to the two ponies were sensual and erotically arousing.

But what Pug lacks in beauty and grace is more than compensated by his other attributes. I didn't buy him for his good looks. Quite the opposite is true; I bought him for his fearsome appearance and for his intimidating demeanour.

Being a retired military man, I am naturally a strict disciplinarian. Indeed, I have heard myself described as a martinet. But this never worried me unduly as it went with the territory of one who is called upon to make life and death decisions on behalf of those he leads into battle.

And so it is with my slaves; I apply the strictest discipline to them. I rule them with resolute firmness and Pug is my instrument of authority. Without exception - and I must exclude Pug -all my household and outdoor slaves are young and are carefully chosen for their handsome features and muscular bodies. They add an aesthetic element to my life.

This is an indulgence on my part. Unashamedly, I am a connoisseur of the sensual beauty of the naked, male form and I never tire of watching my slaves going about their tasks. What can be more pleasing in a Master's eyes than to watch the stress that hard labour places upon a slave's nude musculature as he performs his labours? And as I grow older, I find myself lasciviously watching my young slaves more and more. Regrettably, as I age, I find the spirit is still willing but the flesh is becoming less so.

However, to my mind, my slaves aren't just 'objets d'art' to be visually admired. First and foremost they are units of labour - work animals - and must be kept gainfully employed at all times. I can't abide a lazy slave and I believe idle hands make for much mischief.

To ensure that my slaves are never idle, I have placed Pug over them as my overseer. Pug's ferocious appearance and his instruments of punishment - the cane, the strap and the whip - exercise the minds of my slaves wonderfully and keep them in their places and working hard.

This is as it should be for any slave!

This morning, I am struck by Pug's own helplessness secured as he is to the shaft of the carriage. There is irony in this. Soon he is to fasten Guy's slave to a whipping-post and to whip him. But for now, it is Pug who is chained and vulnerable. And his back and ass make a tempting target for the driver's whip.

Despite the fact that he is my overseer, Pug is still a slave and I see no reason to treat him any differently to any other slave. As I apply the whip to Norge and Rafe I also put it to Pug's ass and shoulders. I wonder how he feels to be on the receiving end of the whip.

The two ponies continue to canter along the tree-lined boulevards en route to Charlotte Maratier's home. The only sounds disturbing the early morning stillness are their laboured breathing, the patter-patter of their pounding feet and the scrunching of the cart's wheels. Added to this is the occasional hiss of my whip as it moves through the heavy, sweat inducing air followed by the loud 'thwack' as it strikes their unprotected, naked bodies.

Norge and Rafe are so alike that they could easily pass as brothers. Both ponies stand at six feet, they weigh the same and with their identical physiques they are a perfectly matched pair. With their sun-bleached, blond hair - although Norge's hair is Scandinavian blond and several shades lighter than Rafe's - and with their strong, muscular bodies tanned to a deep golden colour, they truly are magnificent, young animals worthy of the most discerning owner.

I'm captivated by the working of the ponies' strong, muscular asses as they canter. Every now and then I catch a prick teasing glimpse of their rosy-red, striated anuses and I wonder about their tightness.

I have no doubt the asses of both slaves are very tight. I recall Guy telling me that Norge is an alpha pony so it's most unlikely that he has allowed others to plough his furrow. But I am left to wonder about Rafe.

Guy had told me that he'd 'protected' Rafe from the lecherous attention of the field slaves at La Forõ€'˜. He was saving Rafe for his ultimate revenge against the Barrois family. It would be Guy who'd rape Rafe and not another slave. Rafe of course was returned to the city only yesterday and I am left wondering if Guy Maratier had extracted his revenge against Rafe last night. How do I find out if this is so?

Rather than beat about the bush, I decide on the direct approach and ask outright.

"And tell me Guy, have you extracted your ultimate revenge against Rafe?"

"Indeed I have, Major!" Guy chuckles, "Indeed, I have. I busted his butt last night in fact."

"Do you feel comfortable talking about it?"

"But of course! And why wouldn't I feel free to talk about fucking Rafe?"

"I didn't want to embarrass you but I am curious. How did he re-act?"

"I'm not embarrassed! And I didn't bother to ask him. His feelings didn't enter into it. After all, he's just a slave, isn't he? And one to be used in any way I choose."

"That's true! Was there much satisfaction in that for you? I know you always saw this as your ultimate act of revenge against the Barrois family. Is that how it played out?"

"It's an interesting question, Major. Essentially, yes it was most satisfying but not for the reasons I'd always envisaged. Whilst there was a sense of satisfaction - and a feeling of 'payback' - I found that my initial hatred of Rafe has lessened. So from that point of view it wasn't as I'd imagined it would be."

"So have your feelings towards Rafe changed, Guy?"

"Yes they have! If I'm honest, I have to admit my feelings for him have mellowed from hatred to something almost akin to fondness. The more I have gotten to know Rafe, the better I find myself liking him. Perhaps it's the knowledge that we do share the same bloodline - although his is slave tainted - and for better or worse we are related aren't we? Also there is something indefinable about Rafe that has made me warm to him. I even find myself regretting that we never knew each other prior to him becoming my slave."

"That's not all that surprising, Guy. Rafe - or Lucien - was always likeable. It's true that he had a touch of arrogance but all the same I was fond of him. As you know he was my godson and he'd spent countless hours in my company when he was growing up. I always felt great affection for him. To be truthful I loved Lucien almost as a son."

"Really, Major? Do you still feel any affection for him?"

"Strangely enough Guy, yes I do still have some residual regard for him. Certainly it's not the love I'd felt for Lucien. But Lucien was a free man and Rafe is just a slave. Normally, I never allow myself to feel for a slave - that goes against the grain - but Rafe does 'tug at my heartstrings' and I guess I feel some sympathy for his plight. However, what I now feel for Rafe is more in keeping with what one would feel for a valued horse or dog."

I see both ponies are flagging. Perhaps Rafe has been listening to our conversation. If so, his behaviour is inexcusable. Our conversation should be of no interest to him and all his attention needs to be focused on keeping the carriage moving. Experience has taught me that a driver needs to be ever vigilant or he'll find his charges easing back. I unfurl my whip and apply it to the asses of both Norge and Rafe not once but twice. They reward me with a sudden surge of power as they lunge forward into their harness and the carriage regains its lost momentum. I also apply the whip to Pug's ass and order him to keep pace with the two ponies. I note, with satisfaction, the erotic, criss- cross pattern of angry, red stripes on the asses of all three slaves and my cock stiffens itself once more.

"But tell me Guy, did you enjoy using Rafe?"

"I most certainly did, Major. I have to say Rafe is a fantastic fuck. His virgin ass was so tight. Although I suspect it's a little looser this morning after the pounding I gave it last night. And again this morning before I dismissed him and sent him back to the stables."

"So you had two bites of the cherry, Guy?"

"Yes, that's so. Of course, the first time was the most satisfying. I had Rafe straddle me and position his ass over my cock. I wanted to watch Rafe's emotions as he rode me."

"And did he show any emotion?"

"Yes Major, he did very much so. He had tears in his eyes the whole time. At first, he struggled to take all of me inside of him. His inexperience showed and he was hesitant at first. I did allow him time to adjust his ass and to ease himself onto me but eventually I lost patience and I had to thrust upwards into him - otherwise we'd have been there all night. By that stage, my own impatience was getting the better of me."

"What happened next?"

"Obviously, as it was Rafe's first time, he was a little shy but with perseverance on my part and a few hard slaps to let him know I was serious, he finally managed to take all of my cock into him. But it must have been painful as he grimaced a lot even though I had him grease his ass-hole and my cock before we began."

"But he did manage to accommodate you?"

"Eventually, yes he did - but only after a lot of wriggling, squirming and tearful pleading. However, once he'd adjusted himself to my needs, he relaxed and I suspect he might even have enjoyed it a little. But the real enjoyment for me was to look into his face and to imagine his thoughts. I suspect there was a lot of inner turmoil for him. Being used as a slave for the first time must have shocked him. My understanding is that Lucien was always an aggressive top. Being the bottom for the first time would have to be most humiliating for him."

"I guess so, Guy!"

"Anyway, as my slave, I made him do the work. I had him continue to ride my cock and eventually he found his stride. We managed to synchronise our movements to one another and I have to say it was most enjoyable to lie there and watch as his ass did all the work. To watch as he slid up and down on my hard erection was very rewarding. As he did so, I also had him stroke his own erection but he was forbidden to cum so that we could climax together."

"Guy, am I correct in thinking that Rafe hadn't ejaculated for the whole time he's been a slave?"

"That's right, Major! He was restrained until last night. And I have to say he released his pent-up emotions in a mighty discharge. He unloaded string after string of his cum all over my chest and belly. Of course, I made him use his tongue to clean me up afterwards. Looking at his face as he did so, I think that perhaps was his greatest humiliation."

"Then I suppose you banished him to the floor?"

"No, I allowed him to sleep in my bed. I usually do this with my pleasure slaves."

"But Guy, Rafe isn't one of your pleasure slaves, is he?"

"Not at all, Major. But ... but..... after last night, I have to say he could serve admirably in that role if he wasn't already serving as my pony slave."

"He was that good?"

"Major, let me put it this way! He showed great potential and with a bit of practice, I'm sure he'd satisfy the most discerning Master."

"That's an Interesting observation, Guy. And you say you used him again this morning."

"Indeed I did. I woke up with a raging hard-on and Rafe was lying flat on his belly. One look at his beautiful ass and I couldn't help myself. I ordered him into the all fours position and I fucked him from behind - doggy fashion. If anything, it was even more enjoyable than last night. I think the pressure was off of me - you know the need for revenge thing was gone - and I was more relaxed. Rafe too seemed to be more comfortable and his appreciative moaning indicated that he enjoyed being fucked."

To be continued....