Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 CHANGED CIRCUMSTANCES A Sequel to: `A Reversal of Fortune' Chapter 11:
"Rafe"

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

   Written by Jean-Christophe (Chris) Read my stories 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 is hpermission, Please respect the integrity of
the story and don't do rewrites, make alterations or add pictures."

   Chapter 11: "Rafe"

   For a short time after my caning, I remained fastened to the
whipping-bench while my Master discussed his immediate plans with his
lawyer, Simon Barrow and his household steward, Cato.

   "Cato, what is the normal routine regarding the Master's pony cart?  I
will be in need of it tomorrow morning.  I have business in the city which
requires my urgent attention, isn't that so, Simon?"

   "Yes Guy.  We need to visit the titles office to organise the transfer
of all the former Barrois property and holdings into your name.  I'm afraid
this won't be a quick process and we'll need several visits over a number
of days before it's complete.  But it must be done and done quickly."

   "So Cato, tell me.  What were your former masters' practices regarding
their use of the pony cart?"

   "Master, they would inform me each morning of their plans for the day
and the times they required to use the pony.  I would ensure that the pony
was harnessed and waiting for them before the required time.  Do you want
me to continue with that?"

   "No!  That seems unnecessarily complex.  In future, ensure the pony is
harnessed first thing in the morning and tethered in the courtyard and left
waiting for me."

   "Yes Master.  Do you want me to leave the pony in his harness all day?"

   "Of course, why not?  He doesn't have other duties to perform does he?"

   "No Master."

   "Well then that's settled.  Over the next few days I'll no doubt be
implementing other changes to the routine of the household, Cato.  I'll
advise you of them as they arise."

   "Very well, Master."

   As I lie on the bench listening to my Master, I'm surprised at how
quickly he is adjusting to his new role as the owner of all that was so
recently mine.  Listening, as he gives instructions to Cato, it is easy to
overlook his poor background and to assume he that he was always in
command. How quickly he has taken on the mantle of authority and moved from
being a poor man to a rich master.  But then my transformation from rich
man to slave has been just as rapid and dramatic.

   "I suppose Guy, you'll move fast to put your stamp on things?  Do you
plan many changes?"

   "That's hard to say at the moment, Simon.  I don't want to race into
making changes I'll regret at a later stage.  There's so much I need to
evaluate both here and out at La Forêt.  But inevitably, I will make
changes as I look at the regimen my slaves work under.  For example, are
they being used to their full potential?  Can I increase their productivity
and maximise my profits from them?  Do I need to introduce a harsher regime
of control over them?  These are the types of questions I'll be asking my
managers and overseers in the coming weeks."

   "They sound reasonable questions to ask of your employees, Guy.  And by
asking them, they'll know you're very much in charge."

   "I hope so, Simon.  And if I detect any resistance to change then I
won't hesitate to replace either my managers or overseers.  My slaves
aren't to be so lucky.  They'll conform or buckle under to the whip.  And
speaking of slaves - what am I to do with Rafe?  I'd planned on taking him
out to La Forêt tomorrow but you tell me I'll be in town for several days
attending to business matters.  So Cato, do you have any suggestions?"

   "Master, I can keep the slave gainfully employed.  There's lot of
opportunities for service.  He can be sent to the kitchens or assigned to
the outdoor maintenance gang working in the gardens.  Also we have just
taken delivery of a shipment of firewood from `La Forêt that needs
splitting and storing away for winter.  That would keep him occupied for
several days while you attend to your business matters.  The choice is
yours Master.  Where would you like me to put him to work?  "

   "They all sound like excellent tasks for him, Cato.  But let me sleep on
it and I'll tell you in the morning where he's to work.  But of more
immediate concern - what do I do with him tonight?  I'm reluctant to lock
him up with the house slaves.  They could harbour some animosity toward him
and injure him.  No, I think he needs to be isolated in a secure
environment away from the other slaves."

   "Well Master.  The slave pen is the most secure location on the
property. It's made of steel bars and has a re-enforced concrete floor and
I personally fit each slave with his shackles before locking them in for
the night.  The irons don't come off until I remove them in the morning. 
And my sleeping cubicle is right alongside the pen so that I'm on hand
should trouble break out among the slaves.  Master, can I say that we've
never had a disturbance during the night."

   "You can show Mr Barrow and I the slaves' quarters on our tour of the
house, Cato.  I'm interested in seeing them.  As a matter of interest -what
do the slaves sleep on and what time do you wake them in the morning?"

   "Each slave has his own straw-filled pallet on the floor and I release
them at 4.30 AM, Master."

   "That's an early start, Cato.  At what time do you pen them for the
night?"

   "Yes Master, it is an early start but my former masters required their
slaves to be hard at work when they awoke.  It's necessary for the good
running of the household that the slaves do start early.  There's no set
time for penning them up, Master.  It all depends on circumstances.  For
example if there's a dinner-party or if my Master has guests then obviously
the kitchen slaves and waiters are obliged to work for as long as they are
needed."

   "I see, Cato.  Then there's flexibility in the hours that the household
slaves are required to work?"

   "Of course, Master.  The slaves work at your discretion.  They are here
to serve your needs."

   "I notice Cato, there are no female slaves.  Why is that?"

   "That's correct Master.  The old Master and Mistress did have female
slaves when they were alive but on assuming control of the household, the
young Master sold all the female slaves and from then on he had male slaves
to serve him.  It's the same at La Forêt, Master.  There are no female
slaves there."

   "And does that reflect your former Master's sexual preferences, Cato?"

   "Yes Master.  He was very close to Ben, his body slave and to Norge, his
pony.  But he also regularly used the other slaves.  Any that took his
fancy soon found themselves in his bed, Master."

   "I see, I'll need to bear that in mind.  But that still doesn't solve
the problem of where to put Rafe overnight, does it Cato?  Do you have any
other suggestions?"

   "The only other secure place I can think of Master is in the
stables-locked in the pony's stall.  But he'd still have another slave
locked up with him - the pony, Norge."

   "Is the pony chained up overnight, Cato?"

   "His ankles are hobbled, Master.  But his hands are free."

   "Tell me Cato, what's the pony's nature?  Is he wild?  Can he be trusted
not to injure Rafe?"

   "I believe the pony can be trusted not to injure the new slave, Master.
He's quite tame and biddable.  His former master always described him as
sweet-tempered.  He was very attached to the pony."

   "Good, that's it then.  Given his attachment to the pony it seems only
fitting that the former master should spend his first night with him.  And
it might help them to bond.  Eventually they're to work together and run in
harness as a pair.  They may lie together if they choose but they are
forbidden any sexual penetration.  See to it Cato.  But first, we must give
Rafe his new slave haircut."

   I'm grateful for my Master's decision not to pen me overnight with the
other house slaves.  Already he is showing a master's astuteness in making
that decision.  No doubt they do feel hostility toward their former master
and there is the risk of them overtly injuring me.  It is a wise decision
and one I would have made as a master and I'm grateful for it.

   But then I realise his concern isn't so much for my wellbeing; most
likely it has more to do with my value to him as his property.  It is a
sickening thought to realise that I'm now owned property and my Master sees
my worth purely in monetary terms.  I wonder about that; what is my real
value and how much would I sell for if my Master sent me to auction.

   However, I have mixed feelings with his decision to stable me with
Norge. I would much rather spend my first night as a slave on my own; I
want to grieve in solitude.  I know with all that has happened to me today
there'll be a price to pay for it in the darkness of the night.  My nerves
are fraught and my emotions are raw.  I'm on the verge of total collapse
and I want only to curl up into a ball in some dark corner and cry out my
anger, frustration, disappointment and fear.  For me this will be
cathartic; something I need to do before I can move forward.  The road
ahead into my slavery is to be difficult enough without carrying my
unresolved grief with me and I need to unburden my troubled mind.  But I
need to do this alone.  I don't want an audience to sneer at my sorrow or
to gloat at my misery.

   Yet, the thought of being alone with Norge thrills me.  Of course, I
have spent many intimate occasions alone with Norge since I bought him. 
But these occasions were always at my instigation and they were based
solely on my needs and desires; it was very much a Master/slave
relationship.  I was the Master and I ordered his compliance with my needs.
He was my slave and I forced him into sullen submission.

   But my Master's prohibition on sexual activity between us is
unnecessary. With all that has happened to me today, fucking Norge is the
last thing on my mind.  I want only to rest and focus my thoughts on what
is to happen tomorrow.

   Then I realise we are no longer Master and slave.  We're to meet on
equal terms as fellow slaves.  How will he re-act to my intrusion into the
solitude of his stable stall?  Will he resent me?

   Now, on our Master's orders, Cato releases me from the whipping bench.
Groggily I stand and feel the residual sparks of my caning surge through my
body.  My buttocks and thighs are ablaze with my pain and I'm sure that my
flesh has been irredeemably shredded by Cato's cane.  Reaching behind me, I
ruefully rub my ass and, so convinced am I that it has been lacerated, I
look at my hands to see if they are bloodied.  To my genuine surprise I see
they aren't.

   If I could see behind me, I would note that my buttocks now wears twenty
stripes - ten on each cheek - and five stripes across the back of my upper
legs.  These stripes glow fiery red against the milky whiteness of my ass
and I know from the observation of my former slaves that inevitably they
will fade into the purplish-red bruises I'll wear for some considerable
time.

   Cato, with the expertise gained from many canings, had done himself
proud.  Using my body as a blank canvas he'd very carefully laid down each
stripe in a neat pattern, so that they run roughly parallel to and
equidistant from one another.

   I'm forced to stand still as my Master and Simon Barrow examine me and
trace out the marks of Cato's cane with their fingers.  I try not to move
but the touch of their hands causes me to both flinch and wince.  They
ignore my discomfort and my Master praises Cato for a "job well done".  In
return, Cato smiles his appreciation at this praise from his new Master.

   "DOWN ON YOUR KNEES, BOY!  DO IT NOW!"

   Cato's loud bark takes me by surprise, but I hasten to obey and drop to
the ground on my knees and bow my head.  How quickly I have learned to
respond to an order.  I know it is time for my final humiliation of the
day. In these last, remaining minutes - before the sunset of the day which
had seen me wake in the morning as a free man but return home as a slave in
the afternoon - my head is to be shorn.

   "Master, with your permission," Cato asks, "I'll fetch the shears and
clippers from the stable and crop the slave's head.  And do you want me to
bring back chains for him, Master."

   "Thank you, Cato.  Mr Barrow and I will stay and watch as Rafe gets his
new haircut and please do bring some hobble chains for him."

   Even though I know there'll be little discomfort in having my hair cut,
I nevertheless face this final shame with dread.  I have a head of thick,
curly hair and I am extremely proud of it; in fact my pride of it borders
on vanity.  I'd always lavished great care on my hair and hadn't spared any
expense in keeping it looking good.  Now I'm to lose it and in doing so
I'll also lose another part of my identity.

   From now on I'll wear the buzz crop of a slave and my head will be
indistinguishable from that of all other slaves.  I am now to truly join
them in the uniformity of their appearances and share in the naked
anonymity of their existences.

   On returning from the stables, Cato noisily drops a set of leg-irons
onto the ground in front of me.  I shudder as I look at them; they are yet
another symbol of slavery and I realise that I'm to wear them overnight. 
It is a requirement of the household - a ruling from my grandfather's day -
that all slaves are placed into them before being locked away for the
night.

   Cato wastes no time in shearing me.  He roughly grabs my hair and begins
to hack it off - lock by lock - with his scissors.  He has little regard
for my feelings and strand by strand, he tugs it away from my scalp and
cuts.  I hear the gentle snip of the scissors and I feel my hair gently
falling down over my shoulders to the ground.  The hair of which I was so
proud lies on the ground around me and I have the bitter realisations that
never again will it be allowed to grow so long.  My crowning glory is no
more.

   If it was possible for me to see my head, I would be dismayed at the
ragged, uneven cut of Cato's scissors.  But he isn't finished with me yet.
He pushes my head forward and runs his clippers over my scalp from the nape
of my neck to my front hairline and I'm left with the minimum of hair
cover. The evening air is cool on my shorn scalp and my head feels
strangely denuded.  Cato steps back and slowly circles around me as he
looks at his handiwork.  Not completely satisfied, he again runs the
clippers over my scalp until he is sure that the remaining stubble is of
uniform length.  Respectfully, he speaks to my Master.

   "Master, the slave is finished.  All that remains to be done is to fit
him with his cinch and place him in leg-irons.  Do you wish to inspect him
before I order him to his feet?"

   Without answering, my Master inspects me by running his hands over the
stubble on my head.  I consider this is even more humiliating than the
actual cutting off of the hair.  Once more, I feel Guy Maratier's hands on
me as they assess me and claim me as his property.

   "Well done Cato.  It's a very good cut and it suits him.  He's
indistinguishable from the other slaves except for the body hair.  As he's
to remain in town for the next few days, I'm having second thoughts about
that.  Perhaps tomorrow, I might have him shaved smooth.  What do you
think, Cato?"

   "Master it's your choice and I can attend to that in the morning if you
wish it?"

   "I'll sleep on it and let you know in the morning, Cato.  But for now
let's get him shackled and locked away for the night.  Then you can take Mr
Barrow and me on a quick tour of the house before dinner."

   "As you wish, Master.  BOY, STAND UP!  ON YOUR FEET AND ASSUME THE
DISPLAY POSITION!"

   I'm quick to obey Cato's shouted instructions but the display position
is to prove too difficult for me.  Of course, as a former master I'm
familiar with it and I have on countless occasions demanded it from my
slaves.  In theory I know what is required of me but in practice it proves
to be harder.  Nevertheless, I make a genuine effort to comply - or so I
think - and draw my body rigidly to attention, move my feet apart and
entwine my fingers behind my bowed head.  My efforts however, aren't good
enough.  Cato angrily kicks my ankles further apart and I become confused
by the tirade of his shouted instructions to me.  Exasperated, he asks my
Master,

   "Master, the slave shows an inability to learn and is slow to respond to
an order.  Do I have your permission to train him with my cane?"

   "Of course you do, Cato.  Do whatever you must to make him obey you."

   Cato walks behind me and I hear the whine of his cane.  I cry out in
pain as it cuts across my buttocks once more and I hear his shouted orders
to "stand erect", `pull your shoulders back", and "thrust your chest out,
suck your belly in".

   Each of these commands is re-enforced with a further cut of the cane and
weeping, I hasten to do his bidding.  I have had my first lesson in slave
deportment.  It is a hard lesson but aided by Cato and his cane it is one I
quickly learned.  From now on, I won't have any difficulty in assuming the
correct stance in front of my Master.

   Cato reaches out and takes my cock and balls in his hand and I'm well
aware of what is to happen next.  I have witnessed it with every new slave
I'd ever purchased in the past and like them my genitals are now being
sized up for my new cinch rings.  Cato stretches my cock out from my body
checking its length and thickness before hefting my balls and testing for
their weight and volume.

   Reaching into a small leather pouch attached to his belt, Cato takes out
the cinch that is to adorn me.  It is an inexpensive, three ringed cinch
made of the same metal as the new collar fastened around my neck and its
cheapness reflects my new status as a work slave.  Obviously, I won't be
wearing the more expensive cinches worn by the house slaves or Norge.

   So as to avoid injury to me, Cato very carefully manoeuvres my cock and
balls through the first and largest ring which now rests flat against the
skin of my groin and gathers everything together into a very neat package,
Then, almost lovingly he manipulates my balls through the second sized ring
before finally, threading my cock through the smallest ring forcing it to
stand out in proud isolation from its companions.  Cato makes some final
adjustments to the rings before he is satisfied.

   The rings have an unexpected effect upon me.  I'm not yet used to their
strangeness and the sensation I have is that my balls no longer hang low
between my legs.  I now seem to be bearing them in front of my body and
even my cock is thrust forward into prominence.  There is a very slight
sensation of a shifting of balance and I have a new awareness of my
genitals.  Now they are on permanent display for all to see and to comment
on.

   As a result of Cato's manipulations, I'm now fully aroused and my cock
throbs with intensity.  This isn't lost on my Master who takes my hard
erection into his hand and draws Simon Barrow's attention to it.

   "Simon, you expressed disappointment before with Rafe's inability to get
his prick up.  I think you'll agree Rafe is doing us proud at the moment.
But come and feel for yourself."

   I stand motionless as Simon plays with my erection.  I try to put my
shame from my mind and recall Norge's earlier stoicism and acceptance as
Major Swanston subjected him to this same inspection.  I had greatly
admired Norge's calm dignity in the face of such humiliation and want
desperately to emulate it.  As a slave, I will have to endure many, many
such inspections; I'll be required to stand still as I'm inspected and
close my ears as I'm discussed dispassionately by my betters.  For me,
there'll always be humiliation in these degrading examinations; but like
Norge, I'll gradually come to accept them and there'll even be some pride
in my ability to stand quietly as I calmly submit to an inspection.  That
however will come later.

   But for now, as I stand and listen to Simon's crude comments about my
cock, I burn with the heat of my shame and my face reflects my inner
turmoil.  That too is a lesson I'm also to learn; one of how to suppress my
emotions and remain expressionless.  I'm to learn that slaves are denied
the very human traits of pride and self-respect.

   Cato has picked up the leg-irons and waits patiently for my Master and
Simon Barrow to finish their inspection of me.  Finally, my Master nods to
Cato and gives him permission to fit them to me; Cato kneels in front of me
to do so.  A little shiver runs through me as I feel the tight constriction
of the iron bands around my ankles.  My legs and feet feel weighed down by
the shackles' heavy weight.

   In that fading, half- light between daylight and darkness, I now stand a
shackled, naked slave in the courtyard of the mansion that had so recently
been mine.  I have been dispossessed of it and my freedom has been taken
away from me.  In the few short moments before I'm taken to Norge's stable
stall for the night, I recall the nightmare of all that has happened to me
today.

   In quick progression these recollections tumble through my troubled
mind. I remember how unsuspectingly I'd obeyed the court summons to appear
before Judge Matthews, my disbelief at being declared slave-born, my horror
at my subsequent enslavement and the humiliation of having to strip down to
my slave nakedness before the crowded courtroom.

   And then there was the degradation of my assessment, the fitting of my
slave collar and branding before being made to run naked alongside of Norge
through the streets of the city.

   My life has assumed a surreal quality; in my former life as a free man I
would have seen all this as the stuff of fiction.  Tragically, in my case
it is not fiction; it is all too real.

   My thoughts are cut short by another cruel cut of Cato's cane and the
instruction to.

   "Stop daydreaming, boy!  NOW MOVE!"

   Cato and his cane guide me in the direction of the stables.  My
movements are restricted by my leg-irons to an awkward shuffle ; the short
length of chain joining my ankles makes it impossible for me to lift my
feet and walk.

   I can only move forward by noisily shuffling my feet as far as my chains
allow.

   My Master and Simon Barrow follow behind.



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